Calisthenics, Week 8

I wanted to try the Synatax mimicry excercise on page 100 of our Poetry book.
"Take a poem you admire and copy it out, leaving blank all the major nouns, verbs and adjectives, but retaining all the syntax, punctuation, and line breaks."

And I drifted away from them, slow, on the pull of the river,
reluctant, looking back at their roost,
calling them what I'd never called them, what they are,
those dwarfed transfiguring angels,
who flock to the side of the poisoned fox, the mud turtle,
crushed on the shoulder of the road,
who pray over the leaf-graves of the anonymous lost,
with mercy enough to consume us all and give us wings.


And I hurdled away from them, nimbly, on the eve of the twilight ,
agog, scanning their frowns,
calling them what I'd never called them, what they are,
those plague-bearing badgers,
who bombard the obliques of trampled souls, the exposed youth,
toiling on the edge of a brighter day,
who crow over the intentions of the silently brilliant,
with hatred enough to break us  all and steal our peace.