Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.255

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

None of this so new to touch these many things
View an evening hue and know what joy it brings
Inhaled with nostrils flared aroma sweetly drifting
From furnaces aflame with bread as breath of life.
We have walked before the color of these steps,
With lips pursed as if to whistle, fingers poised to
Pluck each thistle; sacrificing moments thick
With paintings from the Artists' stick.
Future or past, we will look again, and wake
To look again, at the blossom or the branch,
Or the fingers of our hand, softly, softly, lost to each,
And standing each, alone; hearts pounding through
Our veins of steel as we feel that vast support again
And become a crimson blossom of the earth before 
Our always ends. Now, and now again, hands held 
At every crossing, telling every dream when to go 
And when to stay. Always we stand between 
As cream rising to the top, always rising, 
Until a flower bursting forth with unbridled pride.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required