
I am a beetle
trawling to a friendly hand;
lets me down gently.

I am a beetle
trawling to a friendly hand;
lets me down gently.

Puts herself out there;
who will cheer the lone flower,
tell her she is brave?

Sadly, head hung low,
outgrown by competition,
lamp post turns away.

Another day gone,
daylight folds in on itself—
introvert curls up.

Blotchy white patches,
watercolours on canvas—
night clouds glow with rain.