Mar 2014
My hand still reaches
with loves intent
To be greeted only
with fleeting warmth
How you elude me
and my love
Like a doe in the woods
Always there, but never close
with loves intent
To be greeted only
with fleeting warmth
How you elude me
and my love
Like a doe in the woods
Always there, but never close
It could be a love poem, but it's not. I have a wild rabbit that lives in my office. He will never realize that when the alarm goes and the door opens that wolves and raptors are not entering.
