Ball of rising behind the silhouetted hills
           Irredescent patterns stretched across the sky,
           Stream of vegetation replaces mist and fog of night,
           the barge flat plain. In rolling cold, grey and sparse.
           A strange shaped bird spirals lazily to a tree top,
           A small lizard scuttles to a rock;
           The new earth slumbers listless yet waiting, for the coming of an age.

One of the distant hills sways with the bitter cold wind,
and then lumbers forward………now discernible as flesh,
Awkwardly it balances, huge tail as a prop long loose folds of skin
Hanging spare around its neck, it trundles forward slowly.
Just that purpose; in its mind till with one final fatal step
the ground sinks below, bellowing and thrashing it sinks
and enveloped, its yellow rotting teeth no
longer any use.

      The swamp resettles
      No more signs of life,
      The new earth awakes,
      sees the going of an age......

A. Griffee UVI