I penned a poem in a text
And it ran right across.
I attempted to have it fixed,
mounted to the page,
From where it ran astray.
I thought
A tack would pin its rougish feet.
Yet
Foot by foot it abandoned
the page,
Until words were sheltered
in the depths of a lake.
I heard them slosh
Splish splash
Child-like sounds in abandon make.
Then, in a passing moment
Bluish strains emerged
The lake- a swirl of paint,
Surely,
’Twas the lapping waves
That sounded the words,
Luring me to tempt them out
Mocking in merriment
Wrestling with my arms,
That tried to gather them.
Oh! My ink washed away!
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