[Tasmania's least prolific poet ... that's me. Here's a recent one.]
A Tiger's Prayer
Once I fancied I heard your voice, feathered by the wind,
Wordless, or beyond my tin ear to decipher.
Always you were at the edge of sound, the verge of sight
A whisper, a shadow, a plangent absence.
But now I see you pickled in a jar,
My hairless, heirless little fellow worshipper
Head bowed, eyes closed, paws together
And I know that it was your prayer I heard.
Oh! Oh! Beautiful, it is as simple as it could be, full of depth and meaning and I love it.
Good on you, ol' Tin Ear
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