Those drains spill out
The sounds of barrels.
A small crow of a creature-

Dripping down, it drowns
The infection of the bees.
That sound does not travel-

It rises here and remains,
And the silhouettes call out
A reminder to the ants-

Nature is here!
Those ants ignore too often,
To hear the speech of leaves.

Forever it will remain, the reminder
That the ants are of it,
As it is of the ants.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem