Walking The Dog
a butterfly didn't flap a wing
but maybe if it had
and the grebe had held it's breath
below the surface
as the the river stopped it's flow
when the dog-leads intertwined
would they have paused to find
that dog-walking
was the last thing on their minds
but it all passed by as unthink
a moment out of sync
and there as a still-born aftermath
it lay unnoticed
curled-up on the path.
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.