Their antlers claqued
Never clicking
The red sky not blackened
By a crescent shining
While a bat
Said how’s that?
A bit before
A faun went in
And out woodland’s door
Where the bucks begin
And who knows
Where are the does?
Never clicking
The low sky not blackened
By a crescent shining
While a bat
Said how’s that?
A bit before
A faun went in
And out woodland’s door
Where the bucks begin
And who knows
Where are the does?
Their Antlers Claqued
Published
T. M. Shorewick 