It’s like a flower’s morning due,
It sooths the heart and gives to you,
A light that’s bright,
And loving too,
That’s more than wealth,
Can ever do.
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Had we ever met,
With happiness,A serious debt,But I only knew youIn my dreams,Those silly romantic dreams,That Fantasy, projects,But that reality,So cruelly, rejects.
Fiddles and Riddles,
That’s how Poets speak,They’re called ‘metaphors’,But their clarity is often weak,It’s only twisted language,Where imagination and absurdity peakIn a lonely World, so cold and bleak.
Poets are strange,
But it really doesn’t matter,They can have Ups and Downs,Sometimes act like Clowns,But their Dreams you cannot shatter!
Nothing in Nature is the same,
So why should we,Not individuals be?
Words can move mountains,
They can even express love,You hope will never die.
We own the sea,
The clouds that,Silently go by,We navigate,With heart and eye,And keep on asking,Always, Why?What greater pleasure,Can there be?Than paint or sing,All that we see.A Planet Wondrous,Beauty shared,Should be by all,Enjoyed and cared,To be a poet,Artist be,No greater happiness,Have we,Creative Spirit,Live thee free,Inspire us,To better be.