A mole
on a rocky hill
is out of his depth.
Like an empty glove
pines for the hand.
Or a key
away
from its hole,
kept dangling on a chain,
longing to mesh.
The hole is the key,
to a key!
The door
is
irrelevant.
A mole
on a rocky hill
is out of his depth.
Like an empty glove
pines for the hand.
Or a key
away
from its hole,
kept dangling on a chain,
longing to mesh.
The hole is the key,
to a key!
The door
is
irrelevant.