Saturday, March 27, 2010

Alas! Hadst i left the pebble nay.
A wasted reprise; waves on the water sway.
The ant lays anguished in tatters,
For now its parenthood jolted,
As empty stomachs await; gasping and famished.

A musical curse; for no language it speaks,
Renders my conscience dented;
My aims mocked.

Raptly my eyes call for the grain.
Tide it calls but tiny ripples;
Enjoying each rise and ebb.