~POETRY~

I imagine Poetry's a blue-dressed sprite

who visits me in darkest night

and wakes me up with dancing words

like discordant-sounding, squawking birds

"Write, Chris, write", she trills to me

[I know I must, or cease to be...]

I scramble quickly from my bed

to copy down the words she's said

or else, in morning's soft-knit light

I'll forget the rhyme's own sweet delight

"Here are the words", she sings to me

“take them, now, so I'll be free

to take myself to other minds

and help them with their dreaming rhymes”.

Oh, Poetry, I love you so....

How did you ever, ever know

that words exist and sing in me

 I've molded them into poems, you see;

from a little girl, to a woman grown...

Your evening gifts have become my own.

Christina 7-04

[Painting “Poetry” by Alphonse Mucha]