Poetry is love drifting through the sky
as birds do, when they glide up high.
Poetry floats on the pillowy clouds
not just quiet, sometimes loud.
Poetry opens like a flower on a bright, sunny day.
Feel the deep sadness as poetry fades away.
You can’t imagine that? Funny…neither can I.
Poetry’s hot cocoa when snow’s thrown in my eye.
Poetry’s a cushion when I’ve fallen down.
Poetry’s a presence I need when no one’s around.