I penned a poem in a text

And it ran right across.

I attempted to have it fixed,

mounted to the page,

From where it ran astray.

I thought

A tack would pin its rougish feet.
Yet

Foot by foot it abandoned

the page,

Until words were sheltered

in the depths of a lake.

I heard them slosh

Splish splash

Child-like sounds in abandon make.
Then, in a passing moment

Bluish strains emerged

The lake- a swirl of paint,

Surely,

’Twas the lapping waves

That sounded the words,

Luring me to tempt them out

Mocking in merriment

Wrestling with my arms,

That tried to gather them.

Oh! My ink washed away!