The Age of Philosophers,

The moods,The ups and downs,The High SpiritsThe Decent,Painfully, Deeper,Than All that’s apparent.How Soulfully different,To desire the sky,Knowing that Never,From this earth,Will you fly,A still bird,With broken wings,Is no longer, itself.And yet, you Try,You Try to comply,To pacify,To lead a normal existenceBut the Creative Spirit,Invades your Creative Soul,Night and day,Day and Night,With everlasting,And annoyingPersistence!

Not interested in money,From flower to flower,Flips, does she,In her life’s danceShe’s a conformist,Not a sinner or a spinner,Not even worriedAbout what’s for dinnerJust goes from day to day,Nonchalantly, freeHow lucky we would beIf our lives were as simpleAs the life of the Busy Bee.

It alleviates sensations,That so deeply you may feel.

Extraordinary,In its kindness,Embracing All,With poetic blindness,Loving All,Regardless,Of creed, race or religion,Poetry, always,Universal Vision.

Every sentiment that blends,Me to you, and does aspire,To immortalize our love,With a thrill that never ends,With much more than just desire.

Poetry’s love and passion,A deep emotional callSentimental, world of languageThat cannot be ignored,Make up the blessed essenceOf its ever loving Soul.