Poet.

Poet

 

White paper is the canvas

The brush an old worn pen

Words provide the pigment

To release what lies within

 

Feelings dug from memories

To color subjects true

Even though that subject

Is hidden from your view

 

Each subtle twist of rhyme

From the mild to the terse

Touches on life around

From the best to worst

 

Idle does the pen lay

As each word I view

Crafting every nuance

To tell the secret new

 

So here lies simple story

Written flowing as it seems

When the worst a man feels

There is magic in life’s streams

 

 

R.W.W.

Banfiadh copyright2006

Edited2009/2011

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