Twiglets “in a coat pocket”
Something with pockets she always wears
when she takes her walks in the woods
they start out empty and end up filled
with colored pebbles the river has milled
and leaves and ferns and pretty petals
worth to her more than all the shekels
in ancient Israel.
I wonder what she does at the end of the day
when she removes them one by one
does she place them in a unique collection
and look upon them with affection?
Somehow, I see each lovely thing she keeps
essenced into poems she enchantingly pens
on dreary rainy days.