Desperate plains reach the horizon
I see decrepit shacks, fumbled and cast out
Rust, nature’s diary marked on man’s books.
Earthy tears fall from
Estranged faces of stone.
What’s lost lies just below,
Below the endless fields,
Formerly covered by gums and grasses,
Now flaking away in the wind.
Not all life is lost, however bleak.
I see livestock, mindlessly trotting in a
Bachelor herd, a bachelors’ march.
Moss and mould, grit and grind.
Do they know how fate awaits?
They follow the one in front of them,
They follow the next,
Suddenly, there is no next, just the
Does he know how to act?
No, he’s a sheep.