by Bea Garth, copyright 2008
Speak and I will run,
come softly.
‘Though it draws me
I am afraid of the fire.
Like a puma
I must think I am unseen,
a few yards behind your reach
in the darkness, amongst the trees.
I must know that you are as I
when I hold you wholly
paws turned into hands,
fur into smooth skin
despite any owls
that may hoot
their screams.
Note: This is an old poem of mine written when I was a young woman years ago. However I believe it is still universal. Spring makes one think of such things even at age 58. Hope others here can relate. I welcome comments on this or any other post here.--Bea
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