Chanticleer

All up in time,
Bearing witness
To the beauty of uncleared snow –
We can sense the sun’s approach.

Intone the morning mantra –
Percussive click of needles
A chatty bobbin on the wheel.
A winter-shaded finch plays in the hedgerow.

We creatures of instinct
Bless the morning
In somnambulant pastime,
Broken by brash hymns only a mother could love.

Timing is everything,
But this strutter has no sense of it —
Always barging in
With an incessant, arrogant crowing.

First once, then twice his voice breaks.
On the third, trains jump the tracks –
A wilderness strewn with debris
And murderous, predatory intent.

Driven to distraction,
The rail-rhythm breaks.
Bootstomp, mad-eye, a hammering at the door.
“Just eat the damn bastard, already!”

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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