The Omen
I walked knee deep through the river,
forced at last to drown or to swim;
swam at length ‘til I crossed ’er,
soaked from my toes to my brim,
and as I rested regaining my breath,
for the first and last time I saw him.
He wasn’t much to look at.
Just a bunny, light brown and good-sized,
and he sprinted away when he saw me,
(which as well wasn’t much to elicit surprise),
but I noted a glower of hideous fear
embedded like oceans of blood in his eyes.
Chance would have it I came to the spot,
not curiousity leading me there,
rather adjoined to any direction,
step after step arbitrarily fair,
but I did give a halt for inspection
to note what prompted the bunny’s scare.
Beneath me there in a zone of dirt,
by a tuft of, then, plentiful grass,
I spied a footprint, human-shaped,
gave it little thought and passed.
It wasn’t until three decades went by
when I flew back home for the holiday season
with plans to relax by that same old river
that I finally discovered the obvious reason...
The city had grown. The river was dry.
A factory stood there: “Pipework and Plumbing”,
towering over the spot where his eyes
revealed, so clearly, he knew we were coming.
