Night Owl

grabs a hat from the hatstand 
fraught, he warps the midday sun
no apricating mellow touch
in haste, too early a venture
while camouflaged conspirators
beckon to no end, lest he dawdles 
through waxing moonlit gossamer 
and warms the trees of dusk
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

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December 24, 2023 at 3:10 AM
I can feel the angst in your words.. Really like how you arranged your words to get your perspective across..
Culverhouse Avatar
December 24, 2023 at 3:20 AM
Thanks for reading, much appreciated
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