Brief Encounter

First the rustle in the grass,
then the rattle, sharp and clear 

neck hairs bristle, then I freeze 
dry and brittle sounds of fear 

sudden whistle in my nose,
frightened, startled, sucking air 

waving tassels on the grass 
wind?, or tattling motion, where

my hidden, rustling foe has passed
below, unrattled and aware

that hasseled, wary, witless,
fearing battle, I am there.   


   


Written July 1999 by David L Brungart - © Copyright