The Ferrets
There was a dying breed outside
The forest.
They rose with pallor relished
And true.
Like rhythmic bramble they
Trotted through stream,
Mares and lovers gave way.
Rivered with Rilke,
A new day came to pass.
The ferrets of the un-furrowed brow
Gave brilliance to our every breathe.
Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2010
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