There she stood, a silent sentinel
at the edge of her quiet pool.
The dawn, that rose hooded mongrel,
stumbled from her dark vestibule,
and newly born, purchased color;
and wild with abandon spent it on her whims.
Water, rippled by a lone sculler,
pulsed against her slender limbs.
She stared with worry at the dawn.
Then her bright eyes pawed her prey,
and lightening quick, stabbed the dawn;
another bled, another ransomed to the day.
For the newborn day breeds bile,
and with a sway, sells death’s smile.
© rl busséll 2018 – All rights reserved.
Photo by Alfred Leung on Unsplash