The lump in the concrete...only just

Hollowing its cave-like mouth, in deep-hanging crevices

Grass on, and under it,

scattered dandelions, whose severed heads are a song to their scaffold-stems

lying like sacrificed soldiers on the battlefield.

Moving on

to the sight of the second and third squadron

of white-haired, giraffe-necked brothers-in-arms that stand at the lions' gate

in an inter-galactic war.

This field is open to more than one ending.

The hunter - out and about.

A sheepish walk, more of a sneak,

In a world soon populated by uncaring beings that could get their hunter down in one shot:

betrayal of the underprivileged, caged in domesticated looks, trapped to no escape.

Those loyal to death, and, admittedly, to each other, will continue to sing

-As black-feathered as they are-

And while this (living) flow has the mind of a thousand breaths and the soul of a gasp,

once the world has come to its middle ground, still green, still young,

it will die into a new one!

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