Where art thou hiding --
perhaps, 'neath a lonely willow . . .
maybe amongst its swaying tendrils?
Or near the shadow's edge --
where darkness threatens thy way . . .
Come, awaken thy slumbering heart!
Where art thou, I cry forth--
to the shy, grey fox crouching low . . .
Are you there, betwixt those briars cold?
O come now, sweet lover of flame --
perplex a lux of reason for me . . .
I beg thee, come torch my shadow-box of poetry!
[at least then I shan't read what used to be]
© 2016 blue angel