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Tomorrow when the other otters
see the small one
born with three eyes,
they will pause in the water
and drift away.
But tonight he floats
on his mother’s stomach,
the river slow beneath them,
and as he stares into the night sky,
it does not seem to end.
Bittersweet poem of a mutation that did not kill the little one, whether natural or no we do not know. Perhaps far seeing into the universe - a gift divine. Enjoyed :)
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor
Agree to bittersweet.
This wibe of feeling different came up in another recent poem of yours, Tony, if I rightly remember. Artists sometimes have three eyes too.
That true Danik.Quote:
Originally Posted by Danik 2016