A sparkle runs across the air,
A glance escapes without a care.

 

 

The morning twirls in gentle spin,
And laughter stirs the hush within.

 

 

 

A thought leaps high, then hides away,
It teases form, but will not stay.

 

The wind delights in slight disarray,
For a gentle bloom when minds misplay.

 

 

 

One moment bends, a soft ballet,

Where reason laughs — and runs away.

​

The dance invents a sudden song,
And time forgets where to belong.

​

 

A word missteps, then turns to rhyme,
And grins at rules it cannot define.

 

​​​

The teacup talks to the silver spoon,

They plan a trip to catch the moon.

​

The night forgets to mark the day,

And time refuses to slip away.

 

​

The cat debates with bits of old thread,
Then the lamp nods twice — enough is said.

 

The breeze performs a grand ballet,
Then holds and whirs, “What shall we play?”

​