There was the snake
A sinowy red belly black snake
To be precise
Holding its head a few centimetres
Above the grass as if ready to strike
There I was picking up
Some mint by the solar shed
Minding my own business
So to speak
Glancing at the snake
Now and then
Making sure it was keeping still
Having in mind
That these are shy
Which might not have been true
As it did not slither away
Just seemed frozen on the spot
When I had gathered enough
For my teapot I made sure
To walk by the other side of the shed
No need to tease it.
The next morning
By the same shed
There it was furled around
A young chestnut sapling
Hugging it tightly in its rings
Not moving, not breathing
Had given up living
Still lethal to my eyes
But definitely off this world
Resting in peace.
Lucette C. Bailliet
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