The ScavengerA Poem by Augustus
It is his lot to feed on rotting flesh
And find his pleasures midst the fetid reek At dawn the dewdrops smile, each day is fresh And yet he must, decaying corpses seek What crime is his? Why must he spend his days Befriending putrid death and sick disease? Does lack of valor lead him to these ways Or lack of prowess make his blood lust cease? But No! He wallows not in self pity Though feeds he off a carcass in the mud Whilst killers rest in rude impunity He wipes away the stench of blackened blood Though Life is living Hell, he draws his breath With cold solemnity he feeds off Death © 2010 AugustusFeatured Review
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5 Reviews Added on May 28, 2010 Last Updated on May 28, 2010 AuthorAugustusCambridge, MAAboutMy name is Shreyas Gokhale. I have a PhD in Physics from the Indian Institute of Science and am currently a Post-doctoral Research Fellow at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. However, I guess.. more..Writing
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