lithe lean
little
black bugs
skittle across a snow-field
an array devoid of order
yet meandering
generally
headed south
fattened
summer birds do the same
leaving splatter trails
upon departure
kept from migration
everything dies
let loose
a mess ensues
i never claimed i was a loveror a writer.
.
Comments
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OMG
So powerful this is...I love the ending and after all, to me, that is what makes the poem ...
Such a sigh the ending envokes after the darkness that leads to it...I love this...!
I love everything you write
Lynda
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