I left the corpse to rot upon
the steppes of Russia
bitter cold
quickly lost to
the snow
unable to bury it
unwilling to carry it
any further
Left it behind
With the unwanted
horse dung,
broken yert stakes
pot sherds
and burned out lucky strikes
knowing in the melting time
the wolves
would strip the flesh
to the bone
would crack the bones
to the marrow
that ravens
would gorge
themselves
on the bounty
and then disgorge
themselves to their
nestlings
knowing that by summer
only the bleached bones
would remain
to tell of her passing
the wind blowing thru
the broken
and hollow bones
whistling a faint
funereal dirge
v1.0
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