A Poet's Eye
A Poet’s Eye
Do you wonder what a poet sees
Soft moss rocks and twisted trees
A foggy mist, perhaps at dawn
Imagining goes on and on
Perhaps he sees an eerie sight
Where love was lost some lonely night
Or maybe creatures big and small
Who through the underbrush do crawl
A face, a foot, perhaps a limb
A curse imposed on a wayward him
Is there a stream, a babbled brook
He begs a reader “stop and look”
There’s more than what the eye can see
If you just let your thoughts run free
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