Each A Beast From Round The Hill Poem by James McLain

Echo'A Beast From Round The Hill;
Into damp moss,
up from the floor unseen they come.
Forebear's now in reach,
each lays spent in sleep too rich.
To await,
as dreams just recent past in heat to claim that spot.
Morning hides dawn,
no warning from the horn it blasts.
Those caverns deep,
each dripping mind and teeth white tipped.
What his really was,
she has thoughts too deep they weep her needs.
Rivers cut through fields,
lay open bare each breast thats full.
Each, beast from round the hill,
needs more like this to fill that need.
Men sleep on and on,
each beard mixed with moss inside a tree.
While bags of ballast,
leather bound grow heavy as does the moon each time.
Caves beneath the hills,
they fill and being full they grow some more.
One child for you and one for each and damp the moss it never knew.