He has seen the three legged frog;
By the swamp;
Oblivious to itself.
He has seen flocks of dead birds;
From afar;
Looking like the shadows of fly's,
Behind paper widow blinds, aged yellow.
And he hold's on to the obscure thought's ;
Written word's from the shadowed souls.
Into the night of stars,
He stands among dark things in flight;
And listens for the song;
Of the Black Rose.
----end------
moses lee