“How many will be shot today?”

I wonder as I walk along in rain
and counting worms nearby my feet.
They’re victims of a storm
that swept them from their habitat.
They’re scattered here and there
and when the sun comes out
they’ll dry and die

and I’ll go home and watch TV
and learn how many incidents of violence
man has wrought today.

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply