The Chief

The Porqupine
Stood in the middle of the road,
Quills pointed in defence mode,
He was going to write a novel,
With my blood
And his hundred quills.
The twilight twisted slowly into night,
And I stepped back
Out of respect
For he looked like a native American chief
With his white and black spears 
Ready for battle.
He dared me to cross his path,
But I stepped back 
Afeared of being in a victim of his wrath.
He seemed to get the point,
An then with a chief like grace
He bid me a cold adieu,
Which the rustling leaves of the shrub
Translated for me.

Advertisements

One thought on “The Chief

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s