Dilemma

I paid little attention
When she got up to read
I heard her say the poem
Would soon – oh yes indeed
Be printed in some paper
I didn’t hear which one
But when she stared reading
I knew I should have done
Some conscientious listening
For I can’t believe it’s true
The poem that I was hearing
Was one that I well knew.
When I heard about the dusting
I hadn’t time to do,
And also of the rusting,
I knew that it was true.
The lady that was standing there
Was in a bold face lie
How had she found my poem?
Explain it, I can try
I knew I’d given copies
To some people that I knew
But no one I could think of
She might have know it’s true
I hurried home that evening
To find that little book
Of poems that I had written
I knew just where to look.
But of all the little notebooks
I couldn’t find the one
That had the copy of that poem
I feared what I had done –
Did I leave it on that table
Where we gather each Sunday?
And as I think about it
That must have been the way
She found my little poem
About cobwebs and dust
I have to get that notebook back
I have to – yes I must!

© 10/1/01 By Lucille Falk Miller
[She didn’t have my notebook, I found it at home –
but how did she get my poem?]