The willow wrote my thoughts
on the surface of the river
remember them then she said
but I did not
they flowed on down into the sea
of my other thoughts
and mixed up in its melting ***
churning and turning about
in the weeds at the bottom of nowhere

we catch glimpses of our old thoughts
often inspired by something that moves us
and if we don't write them down
they go on and are forgotten
this is part of what poets try to capture
the moments that have stirred the mind
into sensing something special
something out of the ordinary
and so a poem is born

Margaret Ann Waddicor