Poem a Day 9

I went away for the weekend where there were no internets, but I checked my prompt Saturday morning and wrote this on the train:

The Genius over Every Hidden Thing

The genius over every hidden thing
Protects the seed inside the shell inside
The wooden box beneath my bed; and I,
I am most hide

More hide than all the gold and silver vein
That Earth beneath her incubus has got.
They think that I am in the pillow fort
And I am not.


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