Labyrinth

seven - goats in the dark

a poem - goats in the dark

fresh water droplets drip into the ears

of the goats glum mind settling

into thin bin bags creep along

the ice

in the 

dark winter night.

quite right says the clock as he

trots off to his swim,

his voice isn't soft and he most certainly can't sing

the wings float slowly and quietly down,

down, down,

down

the thud and a shout 

and the moat is not a sound yet

the ripples speak 

like a poetic radish in the day - 

oh he's definitely left, and she won't deny your stay!

there's a bounce and a blunder

but we cannot see the thunder

of the goat in the dark and the lark 

with another