and when I looked through the window
over the shoulder of the veranda
I saw a wolf.
The knocks were scratches
made fool of the illusion of
certain magic, these mystic creature does.
But there was no lust. Only fear.
I hurried to the door and whisper softly
"who's there," in the middle of the night,
while the moon pictures herself over
a dreamless, quiet pond of sleepers.
"Help!"
"Open the door."
"I'm cold."
"I'm hungry."
"Who's there?"
"An old lady seeking fleeting abode."
"This door only open to wolves and liars.
"Your kind is never welcome here."
"Alas! I'm no old lady.
I am a wolf."
No comments:
Post a Comment