I find myself feeling a yen
To let the words run once again
Something forcefully held
Can only be quelled
So long before the old pen
Becomes a circular rut
Just open the gate if it’s shut
They long to be freed
And loudly stampede
Across the plains that abut
The woods that encircle a pond
Caressing each flower and frond
With ringlets of rhyme
To echo through time
And all of creation beyond.
Are You Reading Me?
No comments:
Post a Comment