Saturday, November 12, 2016

Growl






I sprint across the moor
Nostrils flaring wide
Sinewed sides
Heavy Sighs
To take in earth and sky
The moor where the heathen 
 Black Oak dwells
The moor that mingles both heaven and hell
I must go out on the moor, again
For I’ve long since said goodbye
I must go where I was meant to be
To this fertile bog, the cold damp fog
This is the domain of the feudal thane
Where grows A. Lycoctonum
The Herbaceous Wolf Bane
I’ve picked up the scent of something warm
Someone has lost his way
Maybe they’re waiting for help to arrive
Well, now it’s on its way
I’ll see to it they make it safely home
I have a heart, you know
But if their deeds are quite loathsome
Then I'll ensure they're just another
     "No Show"