'Death'-Less Poem by James McLain

'Death'-less, it is to all whom wander in.
King of Queens even for them most,
they know it is so.
Green and green upon the fields though it appears,
it must as it,
rises up it's ponderous head, it's shielded from none.
Beggared,
no with paupers it claims the first and second moon,
conversed with and you agreed, humbly so.
For most of them and likened too it bends it's head.
And slips therein.
And entering each cave, white it's teeth hang down.
While the fork runs off, all around it and richly so,
disarmingly upon it's loamy bed, more spring forth.


j.d.