Into the Marsh
A dusty quiver lay on my back
Its arrows clean and sharp
I wade with purpose through itchy reeds
My boots dragging in the muck
I hear you before I see you
Your laugh collapsing the virgin marsh between us
A fistful of whites and yellows
My dear whites and yellows
Ready, steady
It’s no use!
For if I lose an arrow
My quiver will lighten
And my shoulders will slouch
Copyright © Sofia Moreau | Year Posted 2023
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