Sometimes your candour fills her thought
Yet will not set her longing free
Nor satisfy with twist and jot
The wherewithal of poetry
Your fluent undertow runs rife
With epic possibility
To paint the picture-scapes of life
And love in tongue of poetry
The poet craves the ink of you
To set to page pieces of heart
To wage the wars of
gold and blue
And capture want in works of art
But sometimes you evade her call
Without regard or sympathy
Ah word, the utter wherewithal
And paint-palette of poetry
© Janet Martin
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Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!