Befuddled
A POEM
A slow befuddled winter fly
With 747 abandon
Has trundled from my window sill
And God knows what he’ll land on.
Such geriatric flies present
A crisis to compassion:
To smear them or to leave them space
To die in their own fashion.
You May Also Enjoy
Blood, Water, Wine - Sacrament - Paradox Regained
Blood, Water, Wine
The midwife washed the blood and
water from the…
Old Cathedral
This granite faith was pressed against the sky
And, wonder, stood alone;
The truth of…