The End

The End

Well, it’s never really the end, of course.
Other wolves, bigger and badder,
haunt the wood and hunger
as deeply as their unfortunate brother.
Slain dragons rise again,
teeth gleaming as swords in the sun,
reanimated by witches,

wrinkled and weathered,
ever damning the beauty
of damsels and maids
who roam foul groves  
trailing throngs of chipmunks,
rabbits, and sunlight.
Old men never die,

their stories shared again
as generations rise,
gathering about kitchen tables
where hot coffee steams
and cookie crumbs are strewn
like nuggets of lost gold.
Time hefts the past on its back,

scattering yesterdays as seed
on tomorrow’s rich soil.

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