So used to keeping her head down, she
felt the fuzzy image meant no harm.
She didn’t think to pierce the surface;
fell in, susceptible to his charms.
Closer and yet closer she drifted
to the farther shore, following the wiggles
in the pool. What’s more, further away
she drifted from the warmth of her besties.
A winter wind in spring rippled the lamb.
By chance, looking up, she saw the beast
sniffing her scent, licking its chops.
Raising the sail and tilting the tiller, her
chill friend, the winter spring wind, cast
her back to her home on the warm shore.
Carrie is today’s host of The Sunday Muse.