deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Snake
Walking through the clover
autumn grass and long,
silver as fading hair,
damp in the dewy morn.
Stirring at my feet
quaking seed-heads, brown and ripe,
a lowly snake,green and cold
tangled at my feet
brushing my sandaled socks.
He had more right than me,
I stood and watched him
uncurl his slippery coil,
alarming slug and snail,
pushed him with my stick
His attack was not offence,
he scared as me.
autumn grass and long,
silver as fading hair,
damp in the dewy morn.
Stirring at my feet
quaking seed-heads, brown and ripe,
a lowly snake,green and cold
tangled at my feet
brushing my sandaled socks.
He had more right than me,
I stood and watched him
uncurl his slippery coil,
alarming slug and snail,
pushed him with my stick
His attack was not offence,
he scared as me.
Published 6th Aug 2013
| Edited 5th Mar 2015
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