Said to the caterpillar

I am the call for winters that will not come,
I am the need for more trees and polar bears,
I am the bright citation of all things being born,
I am the custodian of the refuge you left behind.

Deep beneath the shorn hill, running high with sweet water,
the call for obliteration finds another expression.
Pale thighs mount midnight's bio basic thirst,
but continuous life is just a genetic echo of matter.




Poetry by Bob
Read 560 times
Written on 2008-01-19 at 23:40

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