Confidence is a timid creature.
She hibernates through simple’s hide,
but come spring stirs not a single stride,
for who can coax her from her cave
when dark depths does confidence crave?
She shies from bright, she shivers in change,
the winds of night are rampant with strange —
and who can bare to disturb her sleep
when confidence contends her weep?
But call her name and comb her hair
and confidence’ll kindle her prayer,
for what creature would lie in shade
when danger’s vices can be staid?
Timid is dear confidence,
be careful not to give offense
when of her skills you do commence —
for confidence lacks common sense.
© 2014 Stellular Scribe