The tracks came to a stop
The creature stood still
No way that it left
Yet no sign of a kill
Clear view of the sky
Between branches on high
A near perfect spot
To grow wings and fly
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
The tracks came to a stop
The creature stood still
No way that it left
Yet no sign of a kill
Clear view of the sky
Between branches on high
A near perfect spot
To grow wings and fly