On the edge

Atop the rock upon which i built 
my sacred tower of stones that tilt,
she nibbles on the moss there grows;
Dainty, poised – her balance shows.
It could easily come crashing down
As shes turns herself nimbly around –
Destroying the pillar either by intent, 
the result is the same, if its accident.
A precarious position i can only observe
in case my proximity breaks her nerve.
And so i pause with breath baited
hoping she spares what was created. 



Beautiful Belinda, bespeckled and freckled.
Ready for winter, a coat of fur as pretty as her
flanks of rose n cinder. She’ll thrive with a life
that none wil hinder. Bell rings and brings
a profile on tinder, a catch with many a match.