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Click hereA poet?
Takes words and makes them into images
I can look and see when I read words
Feel the breeze from the hot-sands
the dunes adding their tangy grit
as you write of the wastelands of Arabia
A poet? I can see that child
sitting in her chair and writing
her first attempts
as the carriage rocks with the motions of the horse,
Come with Me and see
Sooner than later the stars come out
and your words are writ large
across the firmament
Hide not again, little one
Life's purpose is bereft of reasons
who shall it be Take the first trembling steps
Mark the passage and return again