The paper left so blank
the night before...
innocent...white and clean
Next morning it will record
words...forever...the poets dream
Be it of beauty, flowers or trees...
just something heard in the breeze...
or a dream kept behind a closed door
…like the returning nightly memory of war
caused by some madmen’s scheme
sweet repose…or fear’s scream...
even so the paper will record the poet’s dream
No longer will it be innocent…white and clean
© 2/25/04 Faye Sizemore