August night

August night

 

 

Dark, starless night sky, a sliver of the moon

golden scythe is mowing down the old.

Harvest time, forgot to close the window,

a chill settles in ancient lungs evil coughs.

 

Church bells toll the day; the day is hot and

gives nothing away, the old priest is on holiday.

The locum is clumsy, hasn`t had a bath for months,

a murmur of discontent.

 

The cleric sweats there is a smell of booze

a church’s reject; they do take care of

their own. This isn`t swine flu nothing to

report, the old dying as they must

 

 

🌷 (1)

◄ lonely is the famous

sexism ►

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