Lily's Corner
Each scrape and scrap and swing and chunk
of earth he pulls from hard ground
brings us closer to the time where
we must say goodbye to our friend Lily,
who’s body lays upon the mound.
With a wetness to his features
he lovingly lowers poor old Lily,
one of the world’s finer creatures,
into her resting place, down,
at the back of the garden,
beneath the shady pine and
near his garden chair.
He sits there, in his chair,
thinking of her, of Lily,
our companion so fair
and brave and bright
and full of life’s light
that when he smiles,
thinking thoughts of her,
our dog Lily, his glee
illuminates the trees
and birds and plants and bees
of Lily’s corner of our garden,
where she remains to be.
Run!
Run.
Don’t stop, don’t turn;
just run, you fool.
Who are they? What is it?
Don’t care – just run!
Jump over fences,
leap from rooves,
climb strangers houses
who barely approve.
Your future haunts your thoughts
too much – so much so indeed -
that within these fearful moments
fighting the figure’s terrifying speed
you spend your night as restless as
a man with much regret,
yet you, my friend, I’m sorry to say,
have not seen nothin’ yet.
