The cows hid but made their presence known on the breeze.
The tourists drove, paused, drove along the road above,
And the cows ignored them. The hawks hunted or waited,
And the ravens patrolled the road for recent extinctions.
The rounder sat under a cotton tree, listening to recordings
Singing rounds and counting down the vague remaining days
Until the end of time for him began another round for those
With better ways. Who laid time in the shade and gave her
Every dime he made, did all he did, said all he had to say;
Who couldn't make a living in this way, couldn't rock the cradle,
Couldn't sing the song, couldn't hang around and still be gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment