The mooing backbeat

The mooing backbeat
And pregnant pause

The tapping heartfeet
The bloody cause

-Of birth
And death-

Your praises
Sung,
Your faults
Missed,

But what do you know,
Cold and still
Or do you know anything at all,
Your voice a silent shrill,

In your new home
Your tree trunk
Of moss,
Mold on your skull,
The caterpillar your boss.

While he slithers
-we weep-
for your beauty
-skin deep-
your arrows scar my heart
-my most cherished part.

And soon he’ll bloom
And you’ll be forgotten

Our lives
-new pathways-
On a sunny day I’ll trod on

And nod at the butterfly with a glint in
His eye
And he’ll dip into the tree trunk
- I’ll remember who’s inside.





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