by Beatrice Cochran
1/24/2013 / Poetry
I Feel the Evil Thing Smile
I must hide with all my might
It prowls the golden grass from sight,
It will not see me grassing here
I think I'm safe, at least tonight
My twitching tail must think it weird
As gentle wind stirs grass, I feared
That 'tween the branches of the trees
The darkness creeps, the thing neared
Its paws are powerful to kill
We've played this game: hundred to nil
The golden grass is no longer fun
I think I feel its evil smile
The grass is long and thick and brown
I know it wants to bring me down
So I must leap if to survive
So I must dance if to survive.
A University students who loves writing and wishes she could do it more often. There's such beauty in words. I can't imagine not being able to write.
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