After days in the desert
‘Neath a scorching sun
Failing to find sanctuary
Sporting a swollen tongue,
I fell to my knees
Intending to pray
Lord help me find water
Please show me the way.
A solemn committee
Plucked from the sky
Gathered together
As I lay to die
Black robed watchers huddled
‘Round my fading form
Whispering assurance
Yearning yet to mourn
Stoop shouldered graspers
Nodding their sage heads
Poised for the wake
Preparing to be fed
Through cracked lips I spoke
Syllables faint with dread
Fly away motherfeathers
I’m not yet dead.
great tempo, hope your health is good, be blessed
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m well. Thank you.
LikeLike
The O Henry twist at the end
LikeLiked by 1 person
😊
LikeLike
Delightful, Leslie. Where do you come up with such clever ideas?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! This idea came from a poetry submission site. I’d actually written three vulture-themed poems in response to their request. None of them were accepted, but I’m still rather proud of myself for submitting them.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Good for you, Leslie!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh wow, Leslie. Epic. i love this. the pacing is brilliant , so is the language.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! Unfortunately the woman accepting submissions didn’t like it. Oh well. Back to the drawing board.
LikeLiked by 1 person
well, never mind her. She prob didn’t like the word motherfeathers or something… I loved it. x
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha!
LikeLiked by 1 person
love this
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike