Midnight Waters

Midnight waters sprig out

Over the grand body of earth.

How uncouth for man to shout,

“He who is of light is his own mirth.”

“In the game of rugby,” he cries

“There is only one king of the mill

To ambush the lord of the flies,

When inborn truths make their fill.”

Scant and grave, his heart quakes

At roaring bassoons sounding alarm.

In times of haste, he bakes,

Shrieking, “What is the harm?

No need to fuss under the gun.

For nowhere else can we run.”

© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015

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