what brings me here upon this place?nit seems like Sundays always brush me awaynseems like my wife does to teasenwhen she pulls out the broom againnnI know she doesn't do it so unknowinglynyet intentions are the best that can benand she insists so that I learnnI complain, but know what I deservennand here I cling onnto its furry bladesnit could've been a piercing mistakenso I'm back down at the roots againnnbut not so far downnnwhere the wolves are howling upnthey hope for this falling moonnto be spread upon their platesnit feels like gravity's my own baitnnbut I'm still not their supper now...nn'cause I caught a strawberry's tonguenit says to pay attention and it'll save my lifenhope it's enough to buy me the timenit takes for the famished to turn awaynnbut what if my pendulous flesh has caught their eyes?nor if the strawberry told everyone the same lie?nthen, since my instincts aren't what's on my mindnsurely man will lose to nature once again...