Broken Homes

it’s not easy avoiding them.

on a dark path, in the early morning.

try in vain, the lack of light

and it all ends in tears.

hidden shapes;

maybe curled up leaves?

one cannot tell as you trudge to the garage

to get your bike

for the early train to London;

knowing that soon

the crunch of the summer snail

will sound in the stillness of the morning;

home and life obliterated in a single step;

ooze and life-blood running freely for the ants.

mandibles chatter; wings aflutter.

a flurry of activity

like a child with an ice-cream; extreme excitement

as the great colony presses forward

gathering sap and chunky bits

for the big winter freeze

Reviews

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nice..nice...great :)