An echo from the dark green shore
now permeates each open pore,
from murky depths and plankton's slime
a spark ignites of active lime.
And takes the meaning to new heights
by turning off essential lights.
The bunker, once the wherewithall
was nothing but a musty stall.
It saved the mind from toothless cats
while making peace with starving rats.
Please do not fret, let fate decide
which of the Devil's beasts you ride.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yep/
