emmineb
20060510
Roads to Nowhere: Thrush Nest
Two thrushes fly
To their ditchside nest
One flees, the other frozes,
Fledgelings still as statues.
Only the worms in its beak
Are slithering, squirming and writhing.
To their ditchside nest
One flees, the other frozes,
Fledgelings still as statues.
Only the worms in its beak
Are slithering, squirming and writhing.
Roads to Nowhere: Eleven Deers
Eleven deers
Grazing in a glade
I loom leeward
But my stalkins's too fast
And my steps too loud
No wild wolf patience here
For I hear the call of the road
Grazing in a glade
I loom leeward
But my stalkins's too fast
And my steps too loud
No wild wolf patience here
For I hear the call of the road