Lost line

Was it a line about strange saturn’s rings

so thin that they must cling and zing

in our transient earthling imaginings?

 

Or a strolling trundling thought

on how our sun caught the last of day’s

smiling beam and held it tight and taut?

 

Somewhere I lost a stray line near the fen

with no pen to write it down. I was watching wrens

when something odd and bountiful appeared again.

 

Copyrighted by the author

 

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