Through the shadowy grey
of who what when
the mornings are fuzzy
green of visitors that will dance
and laugh, tell stories
with many gestures
and always find a reason
to touch me and embrace
me intimately
It's all, but not enough
I don't want to
crawl away in my hole yet
Could I only hide
like the sun
and appear again
with wagtails in the garden
and playing children
outside