(Warning this poem contains visual content
which may be considered too morbid or shocking
for those of refined and gentle tastes.)

Rock a-bye-bye, Bethy,
from the wood-beam rafter stock,
when the neck-noose tightens,
Bethy's body will twitch, sway and will rock,
the chair she kicked out shall tumble and fall,
and rock a-bye-bye Bethy, will be dead and that's all.
_____
Disturbing photographic image:
http://beautyineverything.com/2375915615

The sun now disappears over the horizon,
the dew quivers fresh on the leaves.
The air stifling in this deprived heat,
The crickets chatter about the toils of the day.

I sit here, as I did in the early morning
with the sun.
As I have done everyday, inside my glass cellar.
Now the gecko glares, daring me to
break the mirror.
He doesn't stay long, knowing too well how
soft and timid society is -- in
the weathered face of Mother Nature.
The crickets taunt me, their cat calls
pointing out how desolate modern society
has become.
Or inevitably, always has been.

My yearning for the heat of the summer air is peculiar.
Why trade the comforts of this life
for the untamed?

Envious am I.