Some streets lay cold,
They lay seeking warmth seeking crows,
Those ravens they fest on the carrion deep,
And leave, those streets that fed them, bloody and seeping.
Till the dawn arrives,
And the lights go off,
Yet the houses around strike shadows,
No warmth.
And the streets do huddle,
As the dogs hunt stock,
Leaving carrion for the birds,
And the hawks, above.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PoetrySecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
