The coldness of the grey stone wall behind you,
That dampness that mingles with the sweat on your hands.
The sight of the lamb that escaped the culler's blade
Only to meet a fate far worse
That, thank God, her tiny mind never understood.
The wind cries as it rushes through
The paneless windows
In search of shelter that doesn't exist.
The bitter taste of the crisp air
That will forever haunt your lips
As does that of a death that you once deferred
And now long for.
January 1969? Where did this very dark stuff came from? Possibly Vietnam TV coverage.
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