Above Out Lofty Field Bed
Above our lofty field bed, The wind brings a fine crop - The war between the milkweed seeds, Blazing soft for a place in time - A shallow tuft - A black dog's coat - A cuff or some unsuspecting doe. Like ours, all these the instruments of war, Are the push and pull to be reborn. The wind controls it... Sign in to see full entry.