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  • Writer's pictureBethany Stimac

Silent Snake

When I took to the herbs

In my garden one day

What looked like a snake

Came sliding my way

He did not steer so close to me

But paused by the bed

Where my flowers would be

Our eyes met briefly

In an absent glance

Then his body began

To tremble and dance

He slipped out from what had covered him

In one swift movement under skin

Then slithered away

Without a sound

Beyond my beds, across the ground

And left the pale remains behind

Of flakey husk and crusty rind

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