Run from the Butcher
©04-16-2022
Winds blow dust, stormy, earthy clouds against the stey,
Against cliffs, valley floors made of orangey clay,
The buffaloes stampede the dirt, pound the dust with clout
They produce. Masses of thousands, have force this rout
The earth gives to their demand, reverberates the thunder
Of their hooves, the echoes of gods yield to their demand
For freedom unbridled, untamed, their power to remand;
Enemies on the hunt for their home, a yield for butcher.
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Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
