by Lacey Smith
White bodies, two shepherds,
their staffs raised, necks and beak
making their way through the almost mud
cutting a line through the overgrown expanse of plains
I wait for the sun to announce itself, to press its way
through the pestilant expanse of branches
blocking its well-rehearsed display.
The shepherds continue on,
and only I may stop to notice.
Posted on 04/11/2007
Copyright © 2021 Lacey Smith