Poetry

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My mind swims with thoughts of words
I collect them and pen a piece
Whether bout stone or fragile leaf
A flower-filled meadow or songbird
Speaking their peace through me

What would these untaught say
If they could acquire pen and page
And write to their heart’s content
Of a full day of reminisce
Writing bout what they love and miss

Would birds o’er head or quail
Write bout the wetlands below
Crammed with reeds and cattails
Swaying with winds that blow
The same that leads them home

Would purple asters in meadow green
Write bout the countless bees
That land to kiss their pedals
And snatch away their nectar sweet
As they lay peaceful from morn to eve

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