Calf-Length Flight-Bone Prospects
Gilded by an autumn sun
And clouds that bore not taint
Russet-hued October leaves
Bedded thickly in the ditch.
Where the busy, hungry voles
Forage for they know not what
On this cold and sunny day.
In the gentle breeze, the leaves drift down
Crimson, puce, vermilion ... never brown.
This, our land, does beckon on
The priest and the pantechnicon
Who mutter truths to thinning air
Who utter truckloads of depair
Into the ears of babes and strays.
In the fatal vacuum, Nature bleats
An empty aching threne that beats the brain.
| Contributors: | dkb, Apsley, fester, loaf, Roland. |
| Poem finished: | 23rd October 2001. |