How Poetry Began
0ne Sunny day the angels sat, assembled on the clouds,
Some played harps, others sang, they all looked very proud.
A few were showing new wings, they’d just received that morn,
Others cuddled angel babies that had just been born.
Children jumping through the clouds, half flying they would run
A day like this in heaven, was made for having fun
Everywhere I seemed to look the clouds rang out for joy
Until I seen one little cloud with just one lonely boy.
The boy he held a paper and his feather was pure white
He sat there very serious as he would think, then write.
Dear child I asked what is it here that keeps you from the rest
He answered I am writing poems and want to do my best.
Poems I wondered, what is this? I knew not what he meant
The little man then read to me, he was such a little gent.
These words he read were different, yet somehow still the same
They rang out more like music, which seem to be his aim.
I wanted to help God out, when people are feeling sad
If they had poems they just might, read them and be glad.
The angel folded his paper, to earth he watched it glide
And made it float and gently land at a Wiseman side.
Now I asked, why did you send that paper down to earth?
He winked and said this is the day of poetry’s great birth.
That’s why we are all gathered here and celebrate this day
When humans discover poetry, to help them on their way.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
09.13.2014
For contest: How Poetry Began
Justin Bordner
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