What Poetry Means To Me
When I see grass that’s green I wish was pink,
Soft to the touch in cotton-candy land;
Where eyes are never afraid if they blink,
Snow will steal summer and chop off its hand,
So that when I stumble warmth picks me up,
And wraps shame in satin cushioned just right;
Where tears become wine poured serenity’s cup,
Blushing cheeks rosy kept safe wintry night;
Then I wave a wand held tightly by me,
Grateful to wander through lost poetry.
10/24/2016
For: What Poetry Means to Me
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016
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