I took a walk the other night
On a path, in the forest of the ages.
In high branches to my delight,
There were birds there in cages.
I would leave the trees with a sigh,
As the path gave way to rolling
Meadows, I whispered “Goodbye
You caged birds, I’m sorry I’m leaving you,
I’m sorry I could not have saved you.”
Now two girls holding a flower pot,
The meadow’s path had led me to.
Inside the flower pot was not
What you would expect for there was
A daisy, a cobra, and a baby.
Now I was caught in panic because
The babe was innocent and be
It as it was, caught in the serpent’s coils.
Still laughing and playing with the
Snake and the daisy I could not
Grab hold of the deadly cobra.
Every time my hand reached out
Venomous fangs did poise
On the most threatening note.
But to the baby, they were just toys.
As the little girls and I peered
Inside the flower pot the babe did play;
In one hand the serpent sneered,
In the other the daisy was mixed in the fray.
I took my chance, my brothers now
Stood beside me. They handed me a blade,
(You could say, this is when I took my bow)
I grabbed hold of the thing that prayed
Upon innocent young, upon life!
Upon the sanctity of the flower pot!
I ended the snakes life, with the knife,
I cut off the snakes head, let that never be forgot.
You see the viper had to die,
I ate that snake, and
Said please baby,
Baby, don’t cry.
August 1st/2011
Hello and welcome to my humble abode, my writer's workshop. Here you will find a fair deal of poetry, do not be alarmed. I will try not to bore you, for here is a collection of my favorite poems, here are my thoughts and fantasies, born from conversations and impressions, dreams and sometimes just the simple things. I enjoy writing these poems as much as I see that you are interested in reading them. So thank you so much for stopping by and enjoy. -Dan L. Biggin
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
-W.Shakespeare
Well done Daniel. Send this one also to the Walrus.
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