Camels and buffaloes

Can we cut out  death and its somber thoughts
Across the seas  a word comes on the internet
Through a night of  unfinished sleep and pillow.
But sleep is death  with  rights reserved to get up
Let us be positive and will ourselves strongly
To write poetry to dead mules and live camels.

The camels look really funny up in their faces
As we stretch our necks to look them in the eyes
It makes more sense to laugh with them in desert
And less with our dead mules on a somber note
When we wish to paint the western skies light.

Back home we have  buffaloes in  their comical
Interludes  between their chewing and shivering
Their leather of flies, their tails fly up and down
Their backs covered by  egrets on  private agenda.

We take no chances these days, morals being low
We cannot not trust our buffaloes with  tap water.
We therefore have them be milked right before us
So that milk flows into our steel vessels undiluted. 


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