Praetor

Bubs:

On a hot Floridan day,
Bubs was making his way.

Through the cornfields he wept,
And in farmyards he slept.

At a quarter past noon, he heard a deafening THWACK,
As all around him faded to black.

The horses were oinking,
The pigs were neighing,

The chickens were mooing,
the cows were clucking.

The ground cracked beneath him,
As the light went dim,

The hearth crackled with fire,
as rose higher, and higher,

He smelt the death,
as it took his breath,

The grass ablaze,
as the world was a maze,

A hopeless mime,
lost in time,

A con man,
tied up in the back of a van,

In ancient tendrils he was embraced,
for it was the fire he must face.

A blinding light filled his eyes,
missing no nook nor cranny;

The cows were mooing,
The chickens were clucking,

The pigs were oinking,
The horses were neighing.

Blinded he awoke,
oblivious to what he had spoke.

Through the cornfields he wept,
And in farmyards he slept.