My country lies in the cradle rocking,
knocking at my door you come-
with a bat that is ready to swing
you bring this inning home.
Integrity lies on the willow waiting,
baiting at my line to bring
a fisher’s hook my eye to catch-
watch it bleed and sing.
The lonely rendered jack a boot,
hooting owl, a nightly ghost-
swoops the sparrow from his nest
and all the rest is quickly toast.
My country lies in the cradle rocking,
knocking at my door you came-
jingoist called me honey-
the sparrow’s impending doom.
4/2017
Anne's mediocre poetry 