This poem that refuses to be caught
like an illustrious butterfly eluding
a child’s eager net; a firefly of inspiration –
Wink on, it’s here!
Blink off, it melds again
with the dusky twilight of cognate business.
The Left chides the Right, “Why must you be wrong?”
Yearning to read,
depths I knew not before.
Do these words dress only to impress?
Or can they hold
in their rough hewn, precious hands
garments of worth and of praise?