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Under and Over Green Fields -by Bergen Frankin green fields, blue skies silent fields, blue skies all the birds have died rotten feathers, broken bones, never to return to a nest called home green fields full of sound death snores with his icy crown no robins, no sparrows, no blue jays, no larks, all are lost in the dark springy to the poke, oily to the stroke, exposed flesh below rotten feathers cold eggs and dead flesh taint faint wild flowers. old eggs and old flesh cover with pestilence and death featherless sun bleached bones, never to return to a nest called home what is a bird with rotten wings, does it fly under the eath as once the sky under green fields and blue skies * Ode to the Puppet Master- by Bergen Frankin the twist of fate and time combine puppet masters controlling with strings of twine while we dance for the pleasure of the divine we tap our feet in times of war wearing smiles like doors; corners pulled by string the eyes lack twine yet they remain closed a land of fantasy rather then choice they have the hands, they have the feet, yet it is the minds they seek an awakened puppet is incalculable and rarely meek by crushing the mind they crush the will and strings of twine become steel ------------------- Under and Over Green Fields -by Bergen Frankin green fields, blue skies silent fields, blue skies all the birds have died rotten feathers, broken bones, never to return to a nest called home green fields full of sound death snores with his icy crown no robins, no sparrows, no blue jays, no larks, all are lost in the dark springy to the poke, oily to the stroke, exposed flesh below rotten feathers cold eggs and dead flesh taint faint wild flowers.
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