The Poet
I, eager and yearning-
A poet-to own untold words!
Sitting quietly I see
The pen, responds to my heart’s core.
So attracted it is,
To the purity of a maiden-
A page, or perhaps, only responding to me…!
The ink
Starts spreading,
As though an enchanted wave, Lured to shore.
To make a small prominent mark
On soft, yet changing sand
That may last
A flickering moment,
In the memory of eternity
Michael
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