The VineThe grass rustles
Along the wetted creekbed,
And the lizard basks
By broken columns,
Once alive in the
Traffic of busy men:
A flurry of feathers,
A cry unsearchable;
And the lizard too is gone,
Leaving only ripples
Across the shallow pool;
His interest in this world,
Has come and gone…….
And the place that
Knew him once,
Knows him no more:
His sullen breath of presence,
Once so proud,
Has left no wrinkles,
On the place
That sought his life.

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