that raised the fruits and grains the men would steal.
To enter one was part of Ciral’s plans—
to enter one and sit behind the wheel.
That he could live within one he’d no doubt.
The things were full of people and their stuff.
When one would stop he’d seen them spilling out.
They moved like him, but never fast enough.
Except the rusted hulk perched on the fence,
there were none of them near where Ciral stood,
for, having his fair share of common sense,
he would have taken refuge in the wood.
The fence, in fact, was damaged at that spot.
Repairs had not been made since the attack.
The raider the defenders had outfought
was terrible enough to keep them back.
©2010 Louis A. Merrimac
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