Low

On the field he lays fallow,
premonitions of the gallow.
Amidst veined flowers of mallow,
on back does he wallow.

In mourning releases bellow,
this empty, lost fellow;
seeking a caress soft and mellow,
gazing at sun of yellow.

Head upon grassy pillow,
lifting from shade of willow.
Sees anew his path to follow,
a life broad but hollow.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s