Lame me and tie me to a stake
on the larkspur-dotted meadow by the lake.
He will come for me then, you will see.
While I am still safe, a howl among trees.
Quietude will tell you the end is near.
Will your little girl cry for me? Fear
ripples through on a draft. You will both
huddle closer to the fire and pray.
I will scream the signal, not die like a moth.
I can still be of use. I will help keep you safe.
No comments:
Post a Comment