Little Drops of Poetry

Bits and clips of insight for the digital age

off
October 23, 2012 Poetry , , , , , ,

What kind of Snake is that?

It’s the kind, that slides smooth silk.
Behind your neck, snap, bite, his ilk.
You ate the fruit, by your father’s blood,
From the seed does come the bud.
But snakes are teachers, regardless of sin.
True to their nature they’ve always been.