Within pockets of morning coats a treasure trove is found
useful bit of verse like panned for pebbles of gold abound
For months it seems they've not seen the light of fluff unwound
but on this day, the laundry fey have blithely come to town.
The pockets turned all inside out the scraps of poetry hound
for clean white sheets of pristine paper where they can be put down.
One garbled thought fought in scrawl "Would you ask me to change for you?"
"Like a inconstant moon that quarters, is that what I should do?"
"Should I change for you like the seasons, let all my being go?"
"Give the fall of my life no meaning hide from the Winter's snow?"
I'll not change dear for I've fought and found all of me's aglow.