He was bored,
So bored with routine,
Every morning,
Brushing his teeth,
Making coffee,
Slogging off to work,
To predictable employments.
Then,
Weekend chores,
Social obligations,
So encumbered by family, friends and finance.
The half-slumbering supplicant,
Longing for escape,
His earnest entreaties
Finally heard,
Heard and granted.
Now,
As the first light warms the earth
He drags himself out from under a stone,
Eager to feel the sun against his scales,
The taste of yesterday’s grasshopper still lingering on the tongue.
~ Russ Allison Loar
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