I’m here in the mossy pool, yet you never feel my presence. I’m a clumsy wingless child. O girl, you wear Malaysian frocks, but I’m always naked. You take Chinese noodles, while I feed on insipid insects. I cannot travel beyond the borders of the pool. My parents are alive away. An orphan, I’m. Time gives me wings as verse. O lady, I know you enjoy my red beauty, though through the key-hole of a wedlock. I seem not to see you watching me. My wings give me a sense of freedom. Now I owe all my charms to my wings and hue. First printed in The Literary Hatchet(Pear Tree Press, US).