The Hurt of Poetry
The hurts in poetry
the touchstone of poetry
is the beauty of the pain of longing for lost beauty
walking an old track looking for the lost
I nearly stepped on a rabbit it was too late to run
we both pretended we did not see each other.
When the rabbit realized there was no harm it got
up smelled my shoes and slowly jumped back into
the bushes.
The forest was silent I had lost my dog she liked
to chase things she saw but made a lot of noise, but
there was a deeper muteness
of course, it was wintertime and hunter were out
with their dogs not today though.
If a hunter´s dog was not up to the chase if was
left behind it had nowhere to go.
The dogs in the village wouldn´t make it in, poor thing
cold and no food, how can we be so cruel?
It was left to my neighbour to find the lost dog
and end its life.
He could no rely on me since my dog was rescued
by insensitive people, and he already had five dogs.
The beauty was to see the rabbit leave not afraid
what do I know it might have thought I was a tree.
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