Untiring, massive, adamant, the two ––
hardness of steel machines belied by silk —
adrift in time, like dinosaurs, step through
into a world unready for their ilk.
A world so small, its voices hum like bees,
take wing like butterflies, their colors bright;
reproach the ancient lizards, walking trees.
Insist that all is dance now, no more fight.
Though once they ruled the earth, their names are lost–
their faded pictures blurring soon to dust.
Their roars wind down, a by-blow of the cost.
The fight has changed us all, as fighting must.
So in the forest clearing’s green array
the boxer bows his head, and steals away.
* * * * *
Lydia Ondrusek’s other posts at Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.