The Road – A poem


dark-road-through-woods

The Road

Like a tornado the ravens circle,

as roadkill litters the  highway, sitting in piles by the roadside.

Scurry, scurry little ones,

lest you be picked off.

Your senses are keen but never keen enough.

For who can see

everything;

every act, every thought, every disease,

every evil deed gone awry

or to perfect plan

coming down the road.

Not me.

So be careful little creatures;

look with eyes wide as you cross the dark road.

Be smart.

Be wise.

Be wary.

and perhaps most of you will

survive the night.

by Philip Wardlow 2013

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