Dead Snake In the Middle of the Roadaf

DEAD SNAKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TRAIL SNAKE! I see you! I see you tightly curled around that rock waiting, in your evilness to attack a man, passing. Why? I walk this trail, daily, almost. It is something I have to do. I did not see you yesterday. Were you here then, lurking evilly to get me? Or were you hunting, as God intended, to secure your subsistence? Perhaps you were enjoying Nature's radiance on a sunkissed asphalt trail, a creature's bliss, sustained by God? now, here you are - - DEAD! That rock killed you. It lay on your head, immorally thrown by one who hates, or fears you. It could be nothing less that caused your death, oh snake. Primordial fears, shaking hate casts man into a reality of . . . Killing snakes. Because . . . The snake was feared, The rock was there and loathing man, knew no better. REFRAIN: (Who else would wantonly kill the creatures of God until the scent of their beauty, the taste of their bounty, has dissolved into a wistful dream of barrenness? Man, the hating antipathy of Nature's burgeon.)