Poetry…Moonlight, Mermaids, and Flying Olives

Today when I was driving home, I saw our next door neighbor getting out of the car. A nurse was pulling up his pants and helping him with his walker. He’s a very old sick man, and he lives alone in a big mansion. I’m told he was a famous New Orleans judge for years. I feel sad when I see him–he’s bent and shaky and both his feet are wrapped in casts. One night his nurse came knocking at 9pm to see if George could come next door as the judge had fallen out of his wheelchair and she couldn’t get him back in. George followed her next door and just shook his head when I asked him how it went and what it was like over there.
I was thinking about seeing the judge tonight while we were eating toast before bed. I started composing a poem aloud. “The mighty judge has fallen…””What are you talking about?” Annabelle asked me.”Oh,” I said, shocked out of my reverie, “I was composing a poem.””What’s a poem?” she asked. “Well, a poem is when a writer tries to tell a story or express a feeling in very few words.””Like the Spiderwick Chronicles,” Annabelle said. “No, the Spiderwick Chronicles are books, they’re novels.””No, like IN the Spiderwick Chronicles, there’s a poem,” she said. My 40-year-old in a 4-year-old body.
“Oh, yes! You’re right! There IS a poem in the Spiderwick Chronicles.”
She took a bite of her toast, looking beautiful and radiant in her yellow nightgown. She chewed thoughtfully, and said, “The sky is fallen… “I’m writing a poem too.”
“Yes, great, that could be a poem!” 
“Hmmm, moonlight and mermaids, is that a poem?” She asked, taking another bite.”Yes, absolutely! A beautiful poem, I love that.” Then Henry threw the olives he had stuck on his fingers across the room and gleefully laughed, poking his little fingers into more olives and hurling them across the room. 
Moonlight, mermaids, and flying olives. That about sums it up.