A Postcard from Paris.....

Dear Arthur,

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

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