Trinkets

These i spy with my little eye
tossed aside, two black-and-white die
silver glinting of a spoon
little green soldiers in a platoon
things you forget around the house
things i pick up, quiet as a mouse
a pencil here, a postcard there
pins and buttons to fill my lair
and ever so softly during the night
when the owl hoots and the moon is bright
when the house is still, there’s not a peep
and you’re counting little sheep
i pick these up, you’re unaware
but look under if you dare
what was lost will come to you
i’ll give them back, they’re overdue
but what a funny thing to know!
a few lost pins won’t stop the show
the only conclusion is that humans
love these small things, it’s proven
how strange! how odd!
what seem like trinkets to us gods –
may be one’s greatest treasure

poetrysillyrhyme

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