"coyotes" poems
I can imagine
myself as a midwife or a medicine woman—
waking early
wandering
the wooddesertmountain
with bad-ass boots & a patchy coat, pockets filled with rosemary and crystals
driving an old truck that smells of rolled cigarettes and gasoline
drinking hot tea out of a mason jar.
i see all of this & I wonder where this image will land me.
Portland in the fall?
Nevada in the Winter?
Colorado? Montana?
But I need the trees.
My power is in the mountains.
Or maybe it is in the moon—and her face isn’t bound to the side of the mountain
i need the howl of coyotes, the smell of pine, the sound of running water over rocks, cold air, wind.
i crave this to the center of my
bones.
i want to dance with fire women, sing air songs, pray to the earth, bathe in the water, and
speak with the
spirit mother & the red father that binds all of these together in a chaotic harmony i will never understand.
i need to paint my body with the stain of poke berry and
run, foot against stone, against decaying leaves.
there is a savage within me
that needs to run free
that needs to bark at the moon and breathe clean air.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
Hailstorms with big winds, trees writhing in breezes
Coyotes howling in moonlight, dogs when they sneezes
Alloys and carved toys, stone gargoyles with wings
These are a few of my favorite things.
Skunk smells carried gently on nocturnal breezes
Sly double entendres and tickley teases
Beautiful salmon colored sunsets that make my jaw drop
Smell of pine 'n cedar in my sauna and wood shop!
Dolphins and doggies and toddlers and mooses
Saunas and cold plunges and honking V-flying gooses
Small mutts and storytellers and Pixar cartoons
Crazy call of the Maine dark of night loons
These are some of my nurturing tunes!
Volcanoes with lava and magma all oozing
Cross country skiing just gliding and cruising
Receiving massages unwinding and unbruising
I love my collections of adhesives and strings
These are a few of my favorite things!
So when the wasps sting
When the bored people whine
Wen I'm feeling dispirited and sad
I just think of a few of my favorite things
And I don't feel…so…bad!
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
*Between the night and daylight,
As twilight begins to shower,
Comes a lull in the day's preparations,
Cherished as the Kittys' Hour.
I hear in the kitchen beside me,
The patter of tiny feet,
Rumbles of varying motors
With "meow's" gentle and sweet.
Leaping from counter with agile grace
On my shoulder with a purr;
Sail grave Thomas and sweet Lady Jane,
And Susan of golden fur.
A "meow," and then a long silence,
I know by mischievous eyes,
They are scheming and musing together,
To vanquish my weary sighs.
With sudden dash from the hallway,
Tortie bounds into my arms!
Felines of all colours sit starring,
Delighting me with their charms.
Frolicking with skillful ease,
Tossing and batting their catnip-mouse;
If I run to escape, they surround me,
They appear to overflow the house.
Suffocating me with their kisses,
Furry paws patting my face;
And though they have torn the kitchen blinds,
They dazzle me with their grace.
I hug you all close in loving arms,
And will n'er let you depart,
Nor ****** you dears out to coyotes,
For you each have won my heart.
And here shall you dwell forever,
Cherished more each golden day;
Till this glad house fall into ruin,
And I in dust shall decay.*
~Hilda~
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
Are my scars saying words,
Too frankly to you?
What of my wounds,
That have yet to heal?
Is my courage too loud,
For you, Sir Proud -
Am I too brokenly real?
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 9:57 AM UTC
To get from the streets to a new life
jungle high
Keeping alive
The will to survive
Months keep seeping
through grates of sub-grieving
no one said life would be easy
Moths, spiders - the size of hands
Creeping through the sands
Aching because they can
And so do I
And so do we
Together, through the darkest night of rain
Coming to the dawn of healing pain.
Come on knees crawling slow
Heaving forth the throne of gold
- Don’t need nothin’ ‘cept Love in Heaven
Thus we cross the lonely river bed
Lying side by side, head to head
- Say was that a bear growling?
Or was it just coyotes howling?
Lonely nights pretending to smile
Medicine only helps a little while
I’m sorry I fall into black holes often
It’s just hard to stand long, once you’ve fallen
I envy your stance, though
I can’t tell if you’re real
Maybe you’re an image of my mind
Created to keep me in line
Either case, you failed me
It’s alright
Life goes on
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 10:05 AM UTC
And then I too
am part of the silence
that casts its post-sunset stillness
throughout this swamp white oak's great spread.
It seems as though even the hive of honeybees
and the nearby nest of baby birds
have stopped to admire
the feeling of the world
tilting on its axis; sinking through space.
We all gaze further upwards,
those bees and birds and I.
And nestled in the remaining twigs above,
is the shockingly finite dance
of the leaves... of the stars.
The shadows that hang from the top-most branches
cast their way down around me
and coat their way all over the ground, making it
easy to forget the height—
the ultimate suspension. Because
born within my skin
is a swamp white oak,
stretching its branches through the
grey matter in my mind,
over-taking and over-whelming.
At the end of it all is me:
a tiny little acorn laid
by an impossible evolution
of people into trees.
Every cell becomes leaf and
the heart a listening ear. Amongst
the chorus of the frogs,
the owls, the coyotes—
the chorus of the woods around—
is that shift
so revered.
The shift of the Earth.
The Earth tilting
on its axis.
It’s time to admit that the maps and
man’s little green boxes there,
are nothing but products
of a continually
diminishing temper... showing
that when this swamp white falls,
it won’t just be a wood
that’s finally left barren.
It won't just be a body
left emptied and charred.
Please, I think, as the bark gets flimsier
and flimsier
beneath my feet. As the wind gets fiercer
and fiercer
howling in my ears. *Please. Let this lone acorn
standing here
sprout into something.
Let a swamp white oak
be seen.*
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
Cold winter camping
Frigorific night huddled around fire
Many coyotes auspiciously howling nearby
"Don't worry, they're across the water"
Still I wait at the ready with coyot-basher
Tents in snow shielded from peninsula
By tarps lashed together with rope and ply
"You'd probably die out here" says Oscar
Here meaning Newfoundland
Here meaning the Northern Pen.
Agreeing monosylabically
Nearly hypothermic thinking
Not so bad
Maybe stay another night (says the voice)
Sneak down to water
And jump in ice fishing hole
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
I was three , no bigger than a west Texas tumbleweed . . . just three .
My mother hung the wash out on the line
and wiped the sweat off her brow with her hand .
Half an hour later the clothes were frozen .
Blue Norther . . . you can see them coming
a hundred miles away .
Wichita Falls , Texas . . . on the Wichita river .
Moses sat on a mountaintop gazing at the promised land but it was out of his hands now .
Leaning on his staff , the one that ate the Pharoh's two serpents . . . sssssssilently a single tear falls to the ground .
No fence could hold me . . . I was over or under in seconds .
A terror at three , a potential runaway .
The police knew me by first name . . . just three .
The plains of North Texas , jackrabbits , coyotes , rattlesnakes and all . . . were home .
Forty years of desert wilderness ,
till the last man , woman , and child of Egyptian connection had died ,
. . . . . . was such a sacrifice made . . . . . .
Moses was the last to fall .
On a mountaintop of no consequences .
"Run Rabbit Run"
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
Crossing the field
One foot after the other,
Grass under my feet,
Clay staining my skin red
With each heavy step.
I drag along,
Instead of flying past like I once did.
My each step is slow and hesitant,
Instant of a leap and a lunge
Towards whatever the future may hold.
And grasshoppers
And little moths and fireflies
Float and hop around me,
As the sun settles behind the Earth,
And the moon rises into the sky.
The grass is green, but yellowing,
And leaves decay at my feet.
Spirals of red and orange leaves
Spin around me a thousand times,
And the falling stars caress
My moonlit skin.
I am the night time,
And I don't want to be.
I am when the wolves and coyotes sing mournful songs,
I am when the foxes and cats come out to hunt.
I am the night time,
And I creep across golden fields
As slowly as the gold fades to gray,
Where the sky touches the earth.
And I want to be warmed by the sunlight,
But I am shivering and cold,
Within my shadow realm.
I sit within the tall grasses,
Amongst the trees that sway in
The harsh winter winds.
I feed off moon flowers and snapdragons,
Yearning to find a daffodil for myself.
And the warmth of the sun calls me home,
But I want to be bask in the light,
Instead I blow away,
And I disappear.
And as I prance and spin in the evening,
Casting rays of blue twilight across the landscape,
My brown eyes catch your blue,
And while I believe you can't see me,
I hope to the moon and back that you do.
I am the spirit of the night time,
But your eyes are like the day's sky,
And I could stare into your sunlight lined iris's
For eternity upon eternity.
And with fluttering wings,
I painted you stars in the royal violet and navy sky,
I prayed that you'd make me yours,
But I was impatient
And you fell along with me
Into the realm where
Landscape meets starscape,
And the blues of the night
Met the greens of the day,
And I'll love you forever
Where the sky touches the earth.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC
Tonight we’re aligned with the stars
I’m wearing Orion’s belt
You’re drinking in thirsty gulps from the big dipper
The little one’s in freckles on your chest
And now I can hear the wind chimes
On the porch
I can hear the leaves
Of the Bradford Pear
I can hear the cats and dogs and coyotes and deer and owls
Making nighttime noises
I can hear mom snoring in the house
For one of the last times
I can hear the trampoline springs creaking with age
And feel it bouncing and swaying under us
Like it did in its heyday
I can hear you sniffling, sister,
I can hear you crying
Your warm wet tears
Are drowning my ears
Like all those summers we did swim team
When I take your hand
It’s smaller than I remember
It’s Abby circa ‘99
Though you didn’t let me hold it then
And I never tried
Now our hair is curling in swirling halos
Around the same face
Mom’s face
We never did look like Dad
Now we’re gazing at the same stars
Under the same March sky
Thinking, saying, “God is good”
Saying, believing, “How can He not be?
When the sky looks like this”
Believing, knowing, that it’s true
Even while our hearts are rocks,
Our hands are clay,
Our minds are swarming
Teeming
Buzzing
Hives
But “God is good”
“How can He not be?
When the sky looks like this”
When our mother is a fish
How can He not be?
We know:
“God is good.”
While we’re reading the Braille of the sky
Two foxes slink by
Now we dismount the trampoline and go inside
Where we hear Mom snoring
For one of the last times
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 3:40 PM UTC
frogs "croaking"
in front of me, in the reeds
crickets "chirping"
behind me, in the brush
countless coyotes "yelping"
from across the lake
bass, carp surfacing
under a yellow moon
unaware its shimmering shaft’s
a magnet to my eye
and more lullaby to me,
who can yet see spectral waves
but lost cherished vibrations--like birdsong,
winsome whispers--eons ago
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
Helicopter blades chop through arid air
sirens fill space off in the distance.
Somewhere, someone still believes
the promise of prosperity
the American dream
but not much really lives in Lost Angeles
**** roaches and coyotes.
Police spotlights eye-ing up dilapidated
housing developments like a ***** show.
Cops driving slow on streets
that form lines like dope trails
like they're looking for crack
on skid row
or *****
on Hollywood Boulevard
or someone to talk to
on the last train to Union Station.
Helicopter blades chop through arid air
sirens fill space off in the distance.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
I am from the towering oak and pine trees
That sway on the old forest’s edge,
Coyotes howling in the shadows
A haunting lamentation
I am from the creaky stairs and floorboards
At the house on Liberty Street,
From the ancient gas heater and its tendrils of flame
That never seemed to be quite hot enough
I am from the sound of my father’s voice
Heavy with sleep as he whispers to us
A late night bedtime story,
Scaring away the monsters under our beds
I am from Sunday mornings
Bursting with rays of golden light and
Filtering through glimmering church windows
Lingering on familiar faces
I am from ‘make good choices’
'Be a peacemaker’
‘You are greatness’ and
‘Oiaue!’
I am from the scent of Mom’s cookies
Chocolate chip and butterscotch
Melting away winters and
Warming cold hearts
I am from acrylic paint,
Graphite, ink and canvas
From smudged hands, stained clothes,
And a sketchbook full of scribblings
I am from the crisp chill of autumn
In the mountains of Vermont,
Staring into a sea of stars
As dazzling sparks float skyward in the distance
I am from the cool sea breeze
And the salty mist over the water
Waves crashing fiercely in the haze
Of Newport’s rocky shores
I am from the quiet peace
That can only come from the words
“I love you” and the warm embrace
That often follows
I am from endless words
Written with shaking, ink-stained hands
On crumpled bone white paper
Hoping to be good enough to keep
I am from weak muscles and fragile bones
From hesitant first steps and training wheels
From stubborn no’s and penitent yes’s
From late nights and shadowy eyes
I am from the past
I am from the present
I am from the trembling, changing
Pathway to my future
I am from this house
This family and
This home
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
I have used up all my tokens
and squandered all my pardons;
all that’s left is tarnished pyrite
and a jewellery box for two.
For I will tear your heart out
and feed it to the coyotes;
you may be the one for me,
but I’m no good for you.
As the field runs crimson
I’ll proceed to crack your spirit.
I know that this is foolish,
but love - this is all I know.
If the moon would make a bargain
on the dust that seals up fractures,
I would strip my backbone
reaching out to make it so;
I would mend each tiny crevice
- plant hydrangeas in the darkness,
but without a new foundation
it is all still frail and makeshift;
and each compounding weight is
all crushed-guts and shattered-statements.
Again we’re set a whirling;
we can’t recognize our faces.
The strongest tree is only paper
and my convoluted nature
is just a fallacy I’ve built to house,
my fear of what is true.
So, we’ll dance until our knees split,
you’ll repeat that we’re a unit
and as I kick the chair out
choke a final, “i love You.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Amidst staggered breaths
my fragile frame converts to dust.
Oak entombs the ashen ruins
of a long awaited
Us.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 6:43 PM UTC
The moon calls to me tonight—
I cannot resist her charms.
I slip beyond the confines of my room
To let the evening soak into my soul.
A full moon spills her silver light,
Darkness braided with her glow.
Rocky earth crunches beneath my feet,
Each step alive with sound and scent.
The high desert hums its song:
Stars glimmer, coyotes cry.
A noisy stillness fills the air,
As daylight’s brightness fills the sky.
My heaven is green grass,
And scent of sagebrush and hay.
I belong in this moonlit nirvana,
Where constellations burn like fire.
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 1:52 PM UTC
There's a place between society and the wild
Where aimless bodies are piled
We call it the Wastelands
All creatures die of old age
Or hunger inside this cage
The deer are never hit by cars
For they never travel that far
The Wastelands use fear
That's what keeps them here
The Wastelands are a scary place
It's horrifying how nothing happens
It becomes too much to face
So we hide under satin
To provide comfortable resting
And avoid Wastelands testing
The Wastelands are a barren environment
Solitary coyotes learn from the cacti
Who soak up meager moisture
And become prickly to protect it
Never knowing if nourishment was near
They grew prickly because of their fear
We inhabit the Wastelands
We're trapped here
Where the walls of the city
Seem to mirror
The walls of the wilderness
So it's here we build our nest
But surviving is a constant test
Because we have useless hands
Here in the Wastelands
Wastelands
Interaction
Is reaction
Create a faction
And never leave
Even if love cleaves
It lies behind ramparts of containment
And the fear of society's arraignment
Even if peace calls
It stays behind walls
Of trees hiding predators
That keep us embedded here
So we ***** barriers to protect us
From the barriers surrounding us
We find our connections through hatred
And build teams around it
We made foolish deals with Satan
This is what we're amounted
Scavengers from both worlds encroach the Wastelands
Journalists and artists mine our souls
Vultures mine our flesh like gold
Taking what they need and going home
Our rabid mouths begin to show foam
From the frustration of loss
But inactivity is our cross
While we watch carrion feeders
Carry on eating
Our friends
Until we turn and look away
Knowing that'll be us one day
Because in the Wastelands
Friends are just creatures who are near
There are no animals to hold dear
We're afraid to lend an ear
When Wastelands use fear
The Wastelands are hell
Dry river beds tell of a time
When the rain fell
But now we're plagued by drought
You can tell by looking at the trout
They flop on the ground
Wondering where to wander for water
The cacti remain still
It's the Wastelands will
In the Wastelands we wait to die
Although we really want to fly
We're just afraid of heights
Which impedes our sight
Where we can't view over our own barricades
It's fear that prohibits our ability to elevate
And we see that the order is too tall
Back into the Wastelands we fall
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
Fissures cut through thick mocha fur, saturating
The forest floor with stark crimson. The deer flails,
Broken, knees buckled, breath shallow and emerging
As vanishing steam in frosty November air.
He falls on a bed of sugar maple leaves, illuminated
In dappled sunlight and fulvous hues.
“Must’ve been the coyotes,” my brother whispers,
As my pocketknife meets the stag’s throat. Gentle
Auburn clouds and freezes time, the body falls still.
My father says, “Sacrifice is a form of worship, but it is only through
Mercy that we may show passion for what we believe.”
Coyote bites prevent carvings from going to Buxton’s General Store,
But what nature produces it also receives.
Ants forage along the split underbelly,
And a red-tailed hawk carries away the entrails.
History defines the antlers of deer as symbols of the Gods,
And men would wear them atop their heads.
I collect only them, still draped with threads of velvet,
Knowing that years from now, nestled inside the perimeter
Of wind-beaten fences around the family farm, beyond
Moss-covered slopes and the Wishing Rock,
Will be the bones of a solitary stag.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Hills, brown rustic reds
skies pile colored layers on
Rattlesnake vertebrae bones
scent of creosote
high desert home
Lover, painter
wild poppies - orange paper
petals, sepal magnification
watercolor, oil painted
gradations
Abiquiu home,
desert ghosts, coyotes
wildflower gardens grown
to pick, to paint perfection
a flower
alone
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
there’s nothing like fire and stars when you’re drunk
i sleep
to crickets and coyotes and rain
this half a heart becomes a whole
whether or not you know it
out here i am never alone
spent most of my life
in places like these
and i’m always looking for more
recount the gossamer threads
because i love those words
and the nonsense means nothing
but i love nothing
it feels like home
there’s nothing like fire and stars when you’re sober
it’s not the alcohol that makes the scene
it’s the scene that makes the alcohol
obsolete
i sleep
to crickets and coyotes and rain
i drink
to crickets and coyotes and rain
i breathe
to crickets and coyotes and rain
i believe
in those gossamer threads
fire and stars
alcoholic words
i love nothing
it feels like home
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
The midnight air is filled with
fetid sewage
the city block houses
yards of gravel and broken bricks
decorated streets of graffiti and *****
roaches skitter across sidewalks
A homeless woman sleeps on the sidewalk
a hundred yards away from the lofts
where I am safe
And I think where did it go wrong?
You lie here every night
with a casted foot and crutches
covered with the remains of a blanket
wondering where the next meal hides
Do you beg or play the raccoon?
This city never slows
sirens howl to the light polluted sky
constantly
like a coyotes staccato bark
Cranes reach toward the heavens
with a question to ask God
Can we build to your home and charge a fee to view the gates?
The nightclub below full of drunks
or to be drunks,
bellowing for attention
before riding home with a stranger
and waking up to another mistake
of empty emotions
With a hunger for acceptance
one will venture out
with one of questionable honesty
if the drugs are cheap
And here I am
walking the ***** streets
at one in the morning
in this menagerie of a city
because I can’t
Sleep
absorbing the sights and the smell
of sick and disgust
but in the morning all will be
Different
The sun will hide the dark
the sky will add color
the homeless will be camouflaged
with the busy crowd
buildings will look alive
bustling with people
the crane will be building
looking for an answer
And I still will not be able to
Sleep.
**** this filthy city.
And yet, I wouldn’t call any other place home.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
In the beginning
there is a class
of creatures we call Gods
that much later
we realize are just mono-
instances of god.
From the tower
I babble tongues,
coded messages and ciphers
that you implement
in your daily rituals
and obsessive behaviors.
In R, it's something like,
christ <- god(moral compass)
In Ruby it could be
buddha = God.new
And perhaps a nihilist or we
would find happiness in
10000.times do
pushRock = buhdda.take(me)
end
It's all pidgin for me,
unstructured glimpses at a world
that's moving and changing
faster than my non-existent
grandson can comprehend.
It's all a network
of +1 and like'd
firing mix media,
reinforcing a nascent
thought stream,
back-propagating our legends
and fairy tales, Grimm
reminders of epic Odyssey |
5 Armies in film |
Warring States |
loping dog with a severed hand
in Akira black & white mouth
repossessing Spaghetti Westerns
back into our feudal *****
Fire, firing
into the Monsoon rain.
Always in the Hemingway
rain of symbols and Matrix
green code.
And in my cupped hand,
I catch glimmering fireflies,
instances of Gaiman's
American gods, Tricksters,
Coyotes, and my faithful
Dog smiling at me.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
To hell with maintaining a fire just so faces could be seen.
I danced on the embers extinguishing little stars and I scribbled in my notes and waited for that one girl to shut up about Twitter and Halloween costumes so I could hear—
the fog dragging its tongue up the valley.
Finally she began to realize the contest she was losing,
took the quiet advice of myself and the wind and went
to go tuck herself
into the tent,
into the safety of ceiling.
But,
you and I
opted to be
coyotes on the hillside.
I took the trail away from our sleeping counterparts,
and flayed you on the dirt where I stripped you of your fur,
howling to the fog and plowing valleys in your flesh,
your legs grew into roots, and wove length by longer length
‘round all the sturdy angles, the anchors of my hips
and you, oh you,
you would **** the marrow from my bone.
And when we lay out, raw and steaming
knees bleeding from the drainage ditch,
a gnawing fades out, falls to dreaming,
we, peeling off a well-known itch.
Then we play a game with satellites
Where bouncing mirrors reflect our minds
And laugh when the reflections never fit.
I gather up my skin, step one foot in and
stumble when the tightness traps my leg,
You pin up your ******* to please our sleeping guests
that wouldn’t take to anything irregular.
On the upward hike ten million lights, ten million lives
herded on the table of L.A.
A Serengeti of fire, a mass migration;
mammoths marching, tusks dipped in flame
Sitting around campfires once taught vocal apes to rhyme
but a million conversations
bleaches each the other white
and now a million electric campfires
bleaches L.A.’s lower sky.
And though I stomped out ours
the ash remains a scar
where we had nearly forgot
how to speak by choosing to not.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:22 AM UTC
There once lived a family of rats, caught up in wires and tubes and they probably thought they had it good until
the car started.
That car’s air conditioning smelled like death stench for weeks, until we
got it looked at.
Who knew we killed a family, who knew they ate their way under the hood,
who knew we killed a family and they reminded us of it for weeks.
——
My mother and father killed my dog, barely big enough to not be called a puppy anymore,
they ran over her,
as she slumbered in the tall weeds and grasses of a field.
——
We had a chicken named Thumper, his body grew big but his head never did,
and he teetered and tottered on ballerina pointed feet, and
the other roosters wanted to
eat him alive.
When we sacrificied him,
my parents plucked his back,
and they saw that his skin was a green-purple secret,
hidden by a humpback and so
many feathers.
——
Our third horse got caught in the river.
Big Mama got caught in Little River.
I guess it’s not surprising when big things die when they get caught in little things.
——
The coyotes got the rest of the chickens.
——
The rattlesnakes almost got the rest of the horses.
——
Most people don’t know that farm-fresh eggs are covered in blood.
——
We had two of the largest, ugliest geese.
They flew away.
——
The cat died under the hot tub,
we couldn’t find her for days.
——
The forest is always a graveyard,
is always hallowed ground,
is where we buried the animals.
Then they built a subdivision.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC