Mornings were created for the innocent animals, <br />To see their way, in bramble, on paths where, <br />Forever their brothers, predators, waited... <br />In shadows, under bowers, and treetop high. <br /> <br />Noontimes were created for each of them, <br />To see each the other, when heat forced <br />Lack of energy to run...to run...turn to fight, <br />Die, and lay limp on ground, as the victor. <br /> <br />Nightimes were created, also, for each... <br />Eyes from under logs saw predators turn, but <br />This, the little things' mistake. For leaving <br />Safety means death for some. Never heeding <br /> <br />Safety, as predator, also means death, at times. <br />Circlings of the Wheel...for Great and Small.<br /><br />elysabeth faslund<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/circling-wheel/
