poetry

Spark

Last night’s party left a glass on the windowsill.
This morning, ice melted, it catches the sun -
a glint, a flare, a fire in the water,
a transient fraction of a star, visiting,
a scrap of halo for a sacred instant.

I love a good similie

Australian Troy Simpson said, "I feel as gay as a bagful of butterflies!"  What could be gayer?