In the Moor

When you  find something, something in the moor,

You can’t help but stop and wonder what it might be for.

A brush to comb an angel’s wing?

A diadem to crown a king?

Perhaps it’s something simple,

Like a tophat or a thimble.

Maybe fairies dropped it there,

To mark something special here.

Or perhaps it’s just a stick or a wild cattail you have bound.

One thing is for sure: Imagination is something found.