What Is It

It isn't the dawn of another spring, nor is it the clean mountain air. It isn't the resort atmosphere, or blossoms waving everywhere. It isn't the poems we like hearing, or the good taste of Myrtie Mae's. It can't be the prizes we've won, or questions poets often raise. Yet from the first time we came, we sensed something special afoot, even though we'd entered amiss, setting our chance of wins caput. Our hearts centered on April and the power of life renewing, we'd sent the butterfly poems, but another stew sat brewing. It took us a while to discern it minds stuck in a rut like glue, as Ted stood up to explain, and let drop the other shoe. It's all about us *****sapiens and how we relate to each other. Then and there, our eyes cleared, allowing our hearts to discover, it's friends we've made at Lucidity in these Ozarks hills we adore, who've caused us to keep coming and coming, coming back for more.