Oddly enough, I did this some years ago. But I was thinking of history,
rather than natural history.
THE VOLE CLOCK
In the cracks of rock and time
the voles still lie, their brief patterings
stilled. Their changes are set in stone.
The slow steps of evolution
tick with their carbon, and what was undateable
is marked by their layered bones.
Now their live brains hold the secret of love,
for the vole loves for life, unswervingly.
In the temples of science diviners gaze
deep into fragile skulls, at secret thoughts
while now as then the hearts beat,
the voles love, spelling us our histories,
and the fact of their love ticks on
without limit, outlasting mine, or yours.
joanna
----- Original Message -----
From: "joe green" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Sunday, August 26, 2007 8:09 PM
Subject: Re: Assignment: Write a poem containing the word "vole"
> When I consider my soul
> I rarely think of a vole.
> Instead I think of a long dead mink
> And, strangely, consider this droll.
>
>
> Jon Corelis <[log in to unmask]> wrote: If I should fall into some
> hole,
> I probably would find a vole
> demanding what I'm doing there:
> there's no place for me anywhere.
>
> --
> ===================================
>
> Jon Corelis www.geocities.com/jgcorelis/
>
> ===================================
>
>
>
> ---------------------------------
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