Sometime a poem's like some words at play,and then suddenly will
forcefully say,write me down now,or i will run away;am lost to you until another day,hence a reason for taken up my writing pen,
words may land like a butterfly,not so easy when you want to
catch,winter sunshine is very sparse,and like a butterfly won't
easily perch,they quickly come,and then they have gone,like the
winters noon day sun,have to say its better than none,my words are cooled,,unschooled;yet caught at play a small ammount i may
well say,come back in march,or maybe in may,a butterfly is
welcome anyway,my words can write,poem or play,hope they stay
so i should pray,to day.
Joe.
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