Hazy winter before the sun donned white dresses,
It always smells like rain,
The coyote sings before me to show off her affection,
My rubber soul is lain
Across the murky puddle where a million tadpoles lie,
It is shrinking all the same,

If we cried for hours the world would not forget them,
A puddle or a pond,
Until the salt has risen or the weather freezes,
I’ll say I was never fond
Of merry pollywogs being born on muddy leaves,
The demons of the spawned
Riding Oran’s plague should haunt this senseless crime,
A marked pillar stands,
A name on every carcass sadly sent,
Across these empty lands,
A watchful coyote eye to find betrayal on
These cold and careless hands.