Such terrifying aspect;
you wear your growl on your sleeve
and eat small children for breakfast.
Something from a sci-fi film,
you are no Son worshipper yet;
your skills are too rustic –
but time will mellow your bite,
and the Son will deal with your bark,
and one day you will be a true
a feast for the birds of the field
and a delight to the eyes and heart.
And the day you receive your yellow angel’s wings –
would you lean over and
spill your Seeds
so that I may learn to be a
Son flower too?