Written by: Ingrid Laymann

assorted like the washing on its lines
the words appeared along my way
in bunches of neat paragraphs    
they briskly flapped into my mind
still dripping with those concepts they
must have been soaked in for a while

I gladly felt them touching me
and liked their affluent display 
of shapes and textures manifold
enjoyed the pleasant freshness 
of the smell they carried off all
seasons’ winds spiced with ideas           

time passing by would watch me
stealthily try on this one or that so
in their context rinsed with thought
to cool the feverish qualms of my
keen heart and growingly my soul 
seems to be draped in purified attire