The Mind of a Poet
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My thoughts conjure up witty words
that merge and converge in my mind;
like a murmuration of birds.
Feelings get released and aligned;
forming a poem line by line,
in which tawdry rhymes get refined.
My muse claims the poem is mine;
but that is not entirely true,
She supplies the polish and shine.
I was mute till She found my voice;
and imbued my poetic pen
with rhythm and rhyme; I had no choice.
I'm like a child in a playpen
whose imagination's free
to wonder every now and then.
My talent is God's gift to me;
expounding on the truths I see.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2023
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