A light flickering in the foggy night
with no moon or night bird
to keep time. Just a stream
somewhere just out of sight
heard like a song almost forgotten.
We don’t forget
but feel the memories
like taking off a watch, finding
the band has imprinted on skin.
The time is still there
when we close our eyes.
A tree plays with moonbeams
to the frogs’ delight below.
There is no end to a song
when it’s picked up and carried
even on the quietest night.
The Word Rummager 
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