Tuesday, February 22, 2011

A strange lullaby

This lullaby of the folk-singer
Sounding like a dirge
Speaks of the shadow
That stalks some, from the womb
Of births deemed inferior
Fates said to be inherited
Of temples which cannot be entered
Waters that are off limits
Of seeds not allowed to sprout
Plants culled when young
Of buds plucked before they flower
Sleepless nights
That dread the break of day
Of the wordless song
That brings the cattle home
Of the child who lifted
The veil off the world
And promised to come again.

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