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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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