Zywa
Wagtails in the garden
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
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