Better here to cease than the knackers yard
A wild hearted beast that lived fast and died hard.
Better to have fallen than led away to be rendered
To have died on the hoof than gone lame and surrendered.
A hot summers day, at least thirty degrees
No air, no wind, no cool summer breeze.
The stench of death, overwhelming corruption
Bloated rotting corpse, total purification.
Buzzing clouds of flies, ever present ’til dawn
Queue above the body to lay precious spawn.
Pulsating carpets of maggots to eat
The despoiled, corrupted, slimy brown meat.
Hours become days, the flesh decomposing
Rib, skull and shins, the process exposing.
Night after day, day after night
A skeleton revealed, sun-bleached to white.
Weeks turn to years, bones crumble dust
Then return to the earth, as all of us must.
Poet's Corner 