Written by: nette onclaud

I watch him mumble, lines of treble notes
Bones flinging on park so emerald clean
The old man droops, his shape a curving moat
Weary the shirt that covers marks unseen
Throwing bread crumbs to hide a balmy scene.
My eyes attack this figure‘s shade, rumpled
On dusky night when glows of moon cancel
Lost frolic, changing beam into a smirk
Raised temper glares at how his body leers,
Craning dry neck, I question stranger’s quirk.

For while he pined, cold hands in light remain
Through fallen wind and chill that rip them down
Stammering, pale voice rasps if his dog has lain
Upon the range to scout for food around
Eyelashes blink, my tears fall to the ground.
Blind is he searching for pet in depth of moans
I lift his arms, with gentle nudges intoned
“ Let me bring you to your own gate, dear Sir
Till your companion finds it way back home,”
He glides a smile, taming my heart’s error.


by nette onclaud
Do You Understand Contest of Cyn Mac Millan