He rested
on the shoulder
of a tree -- with his
crimsoned eyes.
Stripes of sweat walked on his face
as thoughts sought his attention.

Works
had eaten up his strength
and wreathed
his body with aches.
His clothes, like a sun soaked sack;
caked the air with cruel smells.

Lost
in the coo that stood
on his lips -- psyche
left him for home,
As he watched the sapplings-
bid them bye.

He was a big fish
in a small pond,
Before the drought.

Josh Wealth Pampam ©
25/10/20 GMT 13:22