Mr. Emus

Mr. Emus,
Dear old friend,
Frail and sharp,
Withered away,
Graphite gray
And
Dusty brown
As your body
Melts down into
The earth’s embracing
Arms, your bones
Are all that’s left
Of you, besides
The memory of a four
Year old girl, knee high
To a grass hopper
And curious about you,
Your boney beak, and your
Petite shiny black eyes,
She faithfully reaches
A delicate hand into
Your home, offering a piece
Of herself to you,
But you strike her instantly
And instinctively, biting
Her small boney fingers
On the hand that she
Holds out to you





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