Friday, February 01, 2013

The malamute homeward plods his weary way

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The tractor rolls the bale of parting hay,

The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,

The malamute homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,

And all the air a solemn stillness holds,

Save where the helicopter buzzes his droning flight,

And watery tinklings lull the nearby frogs;

Save that from yonder shit-encrusted corral

A moping cow does to the moon complain

Of such a sound, like a cellphone on vibrate

Molests our recent solitary reign.

( a work in progress, with apologies to Thomas Gray )

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