Letter On Thin Paper (Poetry)

He doodled idle on the train
of some quixotic thought
that wound around a nest of thorns
its ragged colours caught

Mere words could not translate the dream
the tangled threads a scrawl
of half-imagined fancies he
was loathe to claim at all

The paper proved so thin the ink
seeped through to the reverse
the pattern thus produced appeared
no stranger and no worse

Its vaguely plotted symmetry
pressed shy and ill-defined
it mirrored almost perfectly
his abstract frame of mind

Was love to blame? He wasn’t sure
the order seemed too tall
unsent the letter’s framed and hung
as Art it’s off-the-wall