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