The Scorpion

Fierce thoughts,back and red Waits the dark quiet creature Everywhere and out-of-sense Stays and waits the sting of death. In the desert sick with heat Where burnt sand and dust does reek, Lurks beneath and crawls thereon The spider-like red scorpion. Ages dried by hot suns burn, Brusquely quick, sharply brittle Forms this skeletonized lizard, Fear this small burnt red devil. Blind to you in gleaming light Or blackened by depths of night, Fast as fire and tight with rage Stone mind unconsciously brave. Pity on the weary man long traveled over life's land, Or the young unknowing lad Who's suddenly stung by chance Fierce thoughts, black and red Waits this dark quiet creature Everywhere and out of sense Stays and waits the sting of death