Late spring sunshine tickles my back.
Shoulders bared without a care.
Rested on the river bank.
Pad and pen in hand.
A trumpeting siren stands on the path.
Up front screeching.
Before mine eyes.
Am I scared like hell I am.
Screaming loud and proud.
Fallen angel with wings unfurled and venom in his eyes.
Unsettled by screaming children.
Yelping hounds of hell disturb.
This creature makes one final stand.
A frightened cob.
Wanted peace and freedom.
To go pick up his pen.
To drift back down the river's flow.
To once more breathe again.
Here and now.
For I avoid this noisy bird.
Who causes pain to those who meet.
The fallen angel with the orange beak.
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