My Poet-Tree

Under the colorful leaves Of my Poet-tree The Autumn breeze Blows one off and it spirals slowly Down for me To read I pick it up off the ground And looking around I hear no sound On a big mushroom I sit down To read the poem I’d found The poem’s title is this, “Hymns to Him that Is” The entire poem dedicated to His Goodness and Greatness Total Love and Bliss Another leaf flutters off and falls But halfway down it stalls In the Butterfly’s halls The Poet-tree leaf calls The poems of ancient Goths and Galls Needful things Indeed will bring A song to sing On the wings Of The Dancing I must read what I’ve written Read out loud and listen With my own words I’m smitten The words on the page glisten Like a newborn puppy or kitten Another leaf falls down to the earth And lands inside a little firth Another poem is given birth I read the lines for what they’re worth And sing a song of joy and mirth I catch a leaf from out of the air Not to break it I had a care I read the words written there It was a poem of loss and despair The words upon it I must share In Sandman Sound Rough seas abound There my little ship is found Being battered and tossed around ‘Till I ran aground On a far distant shore I landed On a deserted isle I’m stranded I don’t know what my hand did They say it’s there I planned it That’s all too outlandish Sometimes I get stuck in a rut And I don’t know from which cloth I am cut Am I just a poetry writing nut? Ahhhh, but I’m just a mutt Who writes what’s in his heart, soul, mind and gut They say the play’s the thing I say a poem can be just as inspiring They can both bring about singing and dancing Or a sense of loss and longing That’s why to them life I bring A poem is a labor of love It’s a gift to us from God above Of course, it depends on what the poem is of A good poem fits the writer’s hand like a dove And will soar high on wings of a dove Years later they call me a wise old sage I gathered up all the leaves and made page after page To share poems with you is my poet’s wage You too can write poems no matter your age Poems that inspire and engage I’m not a sage just a wise old fool I find that writing poems is cool And because my personality is dual I don’t always follow meter and rhyme as a rule And I’m not always invited to swim in the poet’s pool So make your own rules I say to you all And when your poet-tree leaves start to fall Follow that God given call And paste your leaves on every wall and hall And join the dancing at the poet-tree writer’ ball