Next in line

Next in line

Where was the first, who was there to see,
around the corner is always another.
Sister, brother, mother to some they may be,
To one no more than a midnight lover.

Left or right to choose the night's sound,
a flight of fancy a dalliance in the dark.
A park and a bark from an angry hound,
Falling leaves and a laughing lark.

Trialling the waters to see what fits,
Too hot and too cold the winds will blow.
There are none good enough she spits,
but none are known long enough to know.

Smiles and styles of a changing breeze,
Socks and shoes muddied by the rain.
Alone in the cold to eventually freeze,
A life lived moving in continual pain.

Taraz
[ a Steem original ]