The chain link fence holds high the hawk,
A curlew stalks his muddy dance.
And in paling sky no telltale sign
Of death’s poor plan for concurrence.
So truckers dream your steamy miles
And fertile brides keep wide your aisle.
Accountants peck at your hideous nits
And lumbermen your woods defile.
Soon comes the day when the curtain tears,
The heavy night shall reap our fears.
Today the hawk and the curlew call,
The moment holds what death forswears.