Joy-Snatched Poem by james watkin

Running, tripping, with fierce hair-shifts
So Joy did snatch his blond spawn where
It would be leader Wind to know!
Their dark trumpets, through woods do blow...

Through light, dimming. Least of victims
In a lost awareness to be!
Or be concerned of! From afar
Snapped, screeched, for the unfamiliar.

With an open door unto life
I am not so remarkably told
For unintended havoc-making;
If but of one, worry-raking!