Fateful Encounter
D
David Wood
0
Altın Yaprak
Perched on tall grey lampposts
In tight rods of falling rain
Or on a roadside verge
Gulls eye discarded prey.
Dancing with death's door
As speeding wheels race
Waiting for that precise moment
To snatch in anger and precision
Such tasty morsel may not reach
That tight place to be digested
Before fates sickle strikes
And the world again turns
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