The Poet and Me
By Cinara
The Poet and Me The poet awakens before rising sun And ponders the new day before it’s begun Already the lily has opened to yawn While dark purple skyline is etching the dawn And I, still in slumber, too lazy to rise With visions of coffee engraved in my eyes Know well that the lily is closed to the night And won’t stretch its arms til the sun pours it light But I hear the faint sound of a quill in the dark Scratching a poem about to embark On a fantasy voyage across a white page And I know it’s the poet in madness engaged I sleepily rise to see what’s going on And look over his shoulder entranced with his poem Of dew drops on lilies soft petals that gleam Opened wide to the mind of a fantasy dream I reminded the poet that lilies are closed For the sun hasn’t yet cast it’s light on a rose I told him the petals aren’t open to dew You are writing a verse that is simply untrue He said poetry’s only a whim of the mind A tear from the heart and a dream to unwind It matters not which petal catches the dew It is only a poem and in fact - I am you Written March 7th, 2002 © on Mar 07 2002 09:46 AM PST 0 • 10
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"The Poet and Me..."