Barry bury

his noble nose cold in between the leaves and folds of ground, summer leaving in the wind and mercy pouring forth the sound, and sentient pads of feet once restless take their pause beneath the soil, fundamental education for the children's grief we toil. bells are silent, forest wild beside the apple tree today, nesting walker with his shovel and the sod removed to stay the hand of parsons rain, a stump is bleeding open forging pale, never let those growling memories invoke that wagging springtime tail, where he waits and speaks his greeting like a geyser by the stream, making most of joy companionship come visit in a dream.