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