A Big If
If poems come from out of the air,
At the moment, I should go there'
I could have a poetry fest,
Only choosing the very best.
Shelley would not hold a candle to me,
As I float around aimlessly.
Hoping that I'll be inspired,
Before I get too old and tired.
To pen something that pulls heartstrings,
Or poetry that takes on wings.
And flies so high,
Up in the sky.
It captivates and fills a need,
When people read,
Poetry, Poetry soothes the soul,
Unfortunately, my muse and pen are in control.
If poems do come out of the air,
My brain will not allow me to visit there.
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