Circling Wheel Poem by elysabeth faslund

Mornings were created for the innocent animals,
To see their way, in bramble, on paths where,
Forever their brothers, predators, waited...
In shadows, under bowers, and treetop high.

Noontimes were created for each of them,
To see each the other, when heat forced
Lack of energy to run...to run...turn to fight,
Die, and lay limp on ground, as the victor.

Nightimes were created, also, for each...
Eyes from under logs saw predators turn, but
This, the little things' mistake. For leaving
Safety means death for some. Never heeding

Safety, as predator, also means death, at times.
Circlings of the Wheel...for Great and Small.