Special Agent, Iota


Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?

The smallest agent, I:

The jot-and-tittle spy.

At times I can't be seen,

Both placid and serene.

At other times, a glimpse

Is seen. Like elves or imps

I flutter into view;

I'll not get caught by you!


I hide among the blooms

In fancy dining rooms

In danger, I draw thistle

And pack a pollen pistil!

But seldom is there danger

Beside a sweet hydrangea.

I see all that you do;

I'll ne'er be caught by you!


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