Shovel a handful earth over me
by the cut of your hand,
as I know not the working of my grave;
the moment I die
it hitches a dig on me

Paint a sky over my head
by the brush of blue blood,
as I know not the colour of heaven;
the moment I dab an empty canvas
silence press on me

Take my heart round a trip
listless I stand caged inside
as I know not the flutter of the wings;
the moment I peep from the nest
dark night prey on me

4 thoughts on “Dig

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