Were I to Call Upon a Man
Were I to call upon a man, his name would be Regret. His actions would be rushed; incautious, from sunrise to sunset.
Were I to knock upon a door, the host would be Lonely. She has no other soul nearby, but readies two place-mats for tea.
Were I to wish upon a star, I’d find there sits a Hope. For up, among the skies, she sits; to her I will elope.
Were I to call upon a trait, I’d beg Courage find me. For I have neither the spirit to stand firm, not audacity to speak-