Flit Nit Bit
Why oh why
wonders the Widow Wyile
is she on
the
fly?
bzzt bzzt it is so
wings she will have
buzzing her from here house
to where and there place
even as clock time has
fallen back
night hours expand
light watt bulbs ever attractive
off or on
porridge mornings accrue
with increasing cold
the pace
she thinks
could slow
yet bzzt bzzt
shiver your liver
those composite eyes
seeing where this
when that here
goes past rest
translucent wings aflap
until finally she
squats sleepily warmed
by the flickering hearth
resting up
from flitting
like a bit nit
trying to keep
her wits