Not a Florette: Night hunter

Putting the record straight. It seems I have been labouring under a misapprehension, otherwise known as a wrongly titled entry in Shadow Poetry. I got the form from this entry which is entitled Florette. It isn’t; it’s an Essence. Those nifty little two-liners are in fact called Essence poems. Now we know, I’ll stop calling them Florettes.

This is a Florette.

(I’m rather proud of producing this one off the cuff, so I’m posting it in the dverse open link night.)

 

Night hunter

 

Quiet, the day grows, gold the light,

That softens into blue of night

And daytime world sleeps. Wakes the fox,

A silent thief, despite your locks, however tight.

 

Beneath the stars the night grows old,

He slinks to earth where hunger cold

And fierce is driven from the nest—

A feathered gift—and now to rest; this story’s told.