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The Wrinkled Log
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In the Name of Love
There it is, the orphan log,
Stone dead,
Waiting for the extinction,
Lying on the earth’s bed.
Got detached from the frame
Long ago,
None discerns that instant
Nor does anyone bother to.
Wrinkled it is more than before,
Each line does point toward time
And the recklessness
Of those partners in crime.
Couldn’t survive in complete form,
Yet keeps its wheel of struggle moving on
Letting the greatest beings know
Of what they have done!
The miserable log can scarcely fight
Against nature that it’s a part of,
The malicious bugs and the mystic air conspire
And the log waits for a message as the rain falls from above.
