Catch a poem by his toe. If he hollers, let him go.

I caught a poem today,
But I released him back

into the wild.

Or his components turned to dust,
Now swirling in the nature of my head…

Adding to the fields
The nutrients they need:
To grow up into a thousand budding words,
Blades of glorious green.

I caught a poem today,
And I don’t know where he went.
But I hope he’s alive somewhere,
And his time is well spent.

I caught a poem,
He was a romantic little thing.
But I had to let him back into the wild.
Where he belongs, it seemed.