Too Late
It sticks to the underside
of what's out there,
a shadow
on the other side of knowing,
waiting, growing
and creeping closer
when eyes are focussed
elsewhere. It prefers
not to have a name.
One day, it will break cover
and pounce or slip quietly
through an unguarded gate.
Only then will you be able
to give it a name
and by then
it will be too late.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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