The Lonely Reflex by the Park

The reflex is a lonely child, waiting,

by the park, hidden in shadows, unseen.

It scours for treasure where the light fades out,

guarding lucky clovers, secretly keen.

In the murky dusk, it makes soft patrols,

along winding paths, seeking, silent eyes.

Its purpose peculiar, odd to witness,

a cryptic guardian beneath night skies.

Where lovers stroll, hands clasped against night's breath,

it slides unnoticed, shadow of itself,

while moonlight brushes leaves with spectral grace,

its mission unspoken, lean as an elf.

Such is the reflex, lost yet not alone,

a sentinel where day has yet to dawn.