Her hands were empty; she had dropped the stock
Its wood was all 'twas left of her strange friend.
"Oh no," was all she said; she was in shock
To see her rifle come to such an end.
The whine of metal-mites diminished to
Inaudability. The lovely mist
Now smelled of rust, like blood. She wandered through
Unseeing, down a path, hands clutching wrists,
All dazed and purposeless. Then came to pass
She thought of all they'd left back in their wake.
The rabbit-skunk, the scorpion, and Gas --
Her teeth then clenched so hard her jaw did shake.
Her fury thus rekindled, she did yell
"Whoever built this, you will burn in hell!"