Joseph White


Words

Birds in flight beat wings with all their might
in the chilly morn on the boggy marsh land
In the western sky, the pink and purple sunset faded
for Orion, the Big Dipper and the North Star
to sing the song of the inky night
The mournful cry of the guarded one
stood by the rope coiled like a cobra
When the time was near quivered and his ears rang
the odor was deep as a well and his eyes

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