Thought for the day from Howard Nemerov:

Because You Asked about the Line
between Prose and Poetry

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
Fom silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

Think it's time I posted some of my own stuff up rather than quoting bits from other people...