We’ve trapped the sun.
It bumbled through the oak trees
With no perception that we lay in wait.
In innocence, it travelled through our garden,
Only to find that we had closed the gate.
It spent all day trying to find the exit.
But we weren’t telling. Who were we to share?
And then, at last, it spotted the escape route,
And hopped away from us, without a care.
Tomorrow, if it dares to show its presence,
We have a cunning plan. We’re not done yet.
For we have conjured up a cunning ambush.
We plan to overwhelm it with a net!
©Ruth Twyman Lockyer August 2013