Poet
White paper is the canvas
The brush an old worn pen
Words provide the pigment
To release what lies within
Feelings dug from memories
To color subjects true
Even though that subject
Is hidden from your view
Each subtle twist of rhyme
From the mild to the terse
Touches on life around
From the best to worst
Idle does the pen lay
As each word I view
Crafting every nuance
To tell the secret new
So here lies simple story
Written flowing as it seems
When the worst a man feels
There is magic in life’s streams
R.W.W.
Banfiadh copyright2006
Edited2009/2011
