poetry, writing

Why Do Quail Run?

andres-sanz-100047.jpg
Photo by Andres Sanz

H is for Heed

I used to honor the fast and brash,

the notorious and well-heeled,

the industrious zealots

who marched on downtown pavement

 

But I’ve come to recognize true virtue

in the quail’s quivering plume –

in the solitary bay of the owl at dusk –

and in the jeweled skin of a rattlesnake

 

 

 

 

 

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