Tuesday, 4 February 2014

Night on the Farm


The sheep dog sleeps beneath the gutter,
its back legs shake, and it's eyelids flutter.
It runs in dreams, its head bowed low,
Its paw prints fresh in the virgin snow.
The wolf within begins to stir,
A thing of teeth and matted fur.
The dreaming dog gives joyous chase.
The perfect dog, in the perfect place.

The nesting hen amongst the hay,
Shut inside on a sultry day,
Dreams of claws and scaly armour,
And of eating Andy Todd the farmer.
A set of teeth replaced her beak,
Her talons glistened, sharp and sleek,
And mammals fell beneath her claws,
And squeaked their last between her jaws.

Eyes wide open, staring, haunted,
A good night’s sleep was all he wanted,
So at 2am, Farmer Todd,
Got up, and kneeled, and prayed to God.
“At night,” he says, “I’m all alone,
Cold and naked, far from home.
The dark has teeth and trees have eyes,
In a strange land, under foreign skies.”

-Ewan Green-

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