Where Do Poets Go
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A certain poet said she was thrilled, sitting down
Viewing world of us, mounting PS's platform
yes, she was ecstatic, maneuvering keys
On borrowed time and gadget, she wouldn't leave
A day of family gathering, she stole moments alone
Twiddled with words that led her on and on
Thoughts and smiles were shared, on sheets of white
I was in awe, poetry soup to her was such delight
Coy lioness with Jamaican warmth in her eyes
Her poems found spot in anthologies, undisguised
I Hope she's cooking up her best, sans stress
She would laced exotic smells to Soup fixings, no less
Poets arrive then disappear; but some we worry about
Some refresh our taste buds; so what do we do when they're out?
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Entry for Tony T. Curtis's, 'Where Do Poets Go' contest
Copyright © Iris E. S-Lewis | Year Posted 2016
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