Little pebbles dripping,
running window panes,
and I breathe in the lust
of drudgery as each pull
their path to the sill, still
I am, lump and frump,
while the grass grows
to the moon, and each
moment of solitude I
age eons waiting for a
final change, awakening
and finally awake, like
this place, nestled among
fields of corn, the safest
I have yet to feel since
birth long ago, when
no one was there and I
was left to wonder woe

by SHAWN M. YOUNG
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