Posted in Dichtwerk, poëzie, en songs

The hare and the end

And on the horizon

He saw the dried out crops

Hills full of them, resembling waves

Though moist had left

No single drop

And in hare’s heart

A seed of fear shot root

And it confused him

The fields dry as a bone

He knew that man left them allone

So worried he might share their lot

He froze and aimed a prayer at god

A flock of birds scattered

In search of food where they would find it not

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