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.

Breath catches.
The shepherds continue on,
and only I may stop to notice.


Posted on 04/11/2007
Copyright © 2021 Lacey Smith

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