Broken Rhythm Poem by Francis Santaquilani
Broken Rhythm
A fat crow drops onto
The very tip of the top
Branch of a barren tree.
It sways with the branch
As if riding the hand
Of a metronome.
We're swept up in
The rhythm, the crow
The tree and me.
Then a hard gust
From the east
Or west and
The tree becomes a bull,
The crow a bullrider and
I'm on the edge of my seat
Waiting for something bad
To happen.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
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9/19/2024 5:24:32 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Wonderful image and humor in this. Always something unique when I revisit your pages. -chuck