Summary
[ Content Index | Winter ]
The priest understands the unfortunate situation, but his faith is in the wrong place.
Content Type: Winter
Content Created: Winter 1995
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
The crows circle in columns,
Black birds belying creamy clouds.
They forget the fawn fog
In all it's bichrome blaze,
Or the crystalline cannonade
Of a million meandering muted maculations,
And behind the glorious glacial gasconade
Were the forgotten prayers for spells.
Several squirrels scampering in the squalor,
Frolicking far from home,
Rhythmically raised ruby receptors,
Lethargically lactating on leaves and listening
To the tumultuous tyranny's timbre
Of sugar showering the millennium's macabre,
Dreamless to the discovery of the Doppler din
And lost in those sounds were the prayers for spells.
And a soldier's spouse spoiled the scallywag,
Raised him to the rickety rocker to remind him
Of silly stories she should have shared
If work hadn't worn her will and weathered her worth.
They lunched on lentils and a little lemon,
A solitary source of sour sustenance,
And when she suffers and slumbers in the silence
I'll whisper for them my prayers for spells.