It can happen after a hard struggle
that the poem
is where it was least expected to be,
where no one was looking for it,
where it can’t be seen,
in the darkest corner.

It ended up there,
mocking the writer, the reader and the page.
It slipped away to that place
where suddenly
it’s discovered.
Here,
says a small voice.
Hidden
like a child
in a room
where old furniture is stored.