She waits for no Man

A fickle mistress,
she brings no warmth
to your bed-
but clouds the minds
and vision of all.

You cannot woo her.
She has no heart to feel
nor hands to hold;
though you
are in her palm.

Her lips are not pursed
for kissing-
they whistle down the hawk,
to snatch away your moments,
like vermin from the field.

Though she will pass,
unnoticed by many,
all are left to wonder;

where did she go?