the ice age

Where are we going? We should be hunkering, out of sight. Fright has brought us a distance, but let's pause our flight tonight. Blot our trail for a time.

Here is a mossy mew, it will do for a day or two. Come, curl with me, I'll harbor you against madness and rue.

This is really happening; it's colder than cold. I am getting older. One day soon you'll be required to harbor me, and then I will leave you.

They are coming, you must believe. It's distilled down to two: ice and sky. Earth and trees. You and me.

Come and play 100 Word Song: Idioteque over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog.