The Birth of Poems
On paper sheets,
crisp and white,
we labor over
the words we write.
Like newborns,
in lines they lay,
their mouths wide open,
with much to say.
They cry at us
and won't shut up,
until hey are weaned
from bottle to cup.
Then as they grow,
their voices are heard.
Quickly now,
write every word!
(But remember, they
still need diaper changes.
(editing)
Copyright © Darlene Gifford | Year Posted 2015
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