George Witte


Ceremony

The snake lay in state like a king
Slabbed on limestone, overlooking
The river he hunted and ruled.
His mail glittered copper and gold
With dew, for the morning was cool,
That pooled into watering holes
On the pitted stone. It seemed
He would rise when the damp bier steamed
Like a pyre catching flame—the wood

[Report Error]