Monday, June 13, 2011

A poem uncertain is.

Barely there. Aware...but where?
Around the bend? Behind the tree?
Idea seeking company
But me,
I see, upon the air
I stare, and quail, and flail, and rail
The pale, curtailed,
uncertainly, it hesitates
and states, "But wait,
There's more to see.
But not of me."

1 comment:

Melissa said...

I love it Auge!! Hugs