Her Plea is Beautiful
Darkness scratches at my back, colour screams at my face.
The geese are on edge, while I interrupt their evening grace.
I stand and welcome her energy, as she feeds it in my direction.
Her positivity is two-fold, as I drown in her reflection.
I analyze every colour, as though I’m critic.
A bashful smirk, I propose this as psychoanalytic.
Her wind is light, she brushes off today.
I stand cleansed, with nothing else to say.
A balance she forces, as though in control.
The itch at my back grows stronger, as I peer into my soul.
She pleads for my help, and considers me thus,
Will we ever be able to give back what she’s given to us?