Poetry

The Aftermath (#1313)

Morning’s dew glistens upon the pearl faced rock,
I awaken beneath the protection of the hemlock,
Cold and hungry I rise to face the chilling breeze,
My past still burns despite the stinging freeze,
I gather my strength even through my pain,
I refuse to whimper, whine, or even complain,
My fur is matted with dried blood, leaves and soil,
My weakened stance is of endless defense and toil,
Limping slowly, I make my way to the water’s flow,
And drink of those restorative waters below,

Any Thoughts?

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