To Wit To-Woo, Alas

January 2016

To Wit To-Woo, Alas


You may not, see my like again.

I am the silent whisper.

That wandering rodents fear.

I am the flutter in the night.

That only Mother Nature hears.

I am that lonely, eerie call.

That fills, a waning moon.

I am that bag of bones

That lies beside a busy road.

That lies forgotten.

Mans imagery, of....


But not....His Deeds.


Tyto alba


I knew him not...

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