Poyetry

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Calling, Unanswered


Frantic, she tore
Up and down the field.
Crying, calling,
"My baby, my baby!"
No answer,
Gone, beyond all hearing,
The colt lay dead.
The mare, calling,
Hour after hour,
Day after day.
At last, exhausted,
And hopeless,
She gave up.

March 27, 2007
Betsy McKenzie

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