The Poet

I, eager and yearning- A poet-to own untold words! Sitting quietly I see The pen, responds to my heart’s core. So attracted it is, To the purity of a maiden- A page, or perhaps, only responding to me…! The ink Starts spreading, As though an enchanted wave, Lured to shore. To make a small prominent mark On soft, yet changing sand That may last A flickering moment, In the memory of eternity Michael