Low level poetry. Instead of notebooks, bar napkins, pieces of sheet and paper towels, I write down here.

5/01/2012

Angry weather


Crows under stormy clouds,
early spring and quietness.
Greedy land, so much mud and clay, your only wealth...
Yet a million buds, a million grassblades, a million leaves,
a million drafts of a million lives.
¡Pay heed, you hero, king of mices!  

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