Wayward
Now she's here
and now she's there,
flittering and flying
through the hours in a day,
laughing now, then crying.
Her moods are fleeting,
they grasp her in a flash
then just as fast they fizzle
like a firework in the rain.
Would that she were constant
like the moon,
self-directed, self-assured,
without a care,
but she is wayward,
ever flickering,
fluttering,
floundering,
more there than anywhere.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment