Poetry used to come easily to me; these days, it’s always a surprise. For your reading pleasure, I present “Sparkle:”
Last night I picked up this nugget of poetry
And a bit of luster beneath the dust caught my eye
I puffed my air and the dirt took flight
Sure enough, it had some shine
If I wipe it on my shirt, will it sparkle?
If I wipe it down with polish, does it shine?
Does it glitter so that others stop to wonder?
Will all the other poets think it’s fine?
I turned the nugget in my hand reflecting
And slowly smiled swelling heart and mind
Into my pocket slipped this happy nugget
Doesn’t matter now; it’s mine