thank you for your postcard
which arrived in the mail today.
I am pleased to read that you are
having the time of your life.
Paris is nice at this time of year,
or so I have heard dear Arthur.
However, I am glad that I am
not there with you as you wish,
for I have moved on with my life.
Maybe you remember Harold?
He raises prized golden marigolds
and kindly says he prizes me too.
From your long over-it wife,
A dverse poets prompt to write a poem using just one line from the song
'Dancing Queen' by ABBA.
Hope you can spot the line I've used, in this fictional 'postcard poem' scenario.
Here is the link: ABBA