04 November 2007

riding downhill

there are no mountains left to bar the way
the lowlands lie there waiting for the rain
we see so clearly all across the plain
from the straight path it is a snip to stray
we bake so quickly under the harsh ray
that forward movement seems no sort of gain
yet pausing offers no surcease of pain
it's just another ordinary day
the crows that soar above us hope we die
something must do so that's their daily hunch
and from their observation none can flee
the sun's a single horrid searing eye
and from its heat folk hide and eat their lunch
while freedom's in the distance over sea

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