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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-07-03 | [Ce texte devrait être lu en english] | Inscrit à la bibliotèque par Joshua Vasquez Butawan
Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done, And start their silent swinging, one by one. Black horses drive a mower through the weeds, And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds. His belly close to ground. I see the blade. Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.
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