Meandering Throughout the forest glen One chilly morn in early spring, I spied a wounded Carolina wren.
If you would write Good poetry, then you Must first your mind and thoughts ignite. How so? By...
I fear your attraction Is my great distraction...
You aides and assistants, Please lend me assistance In taking attendance Of all the attendants
There’s nothing like a morning cup, Or maybe two, Of morning brew.
You gave me wings and taught me how to fly; You gave me my first view of sun’s gold ray.
On leaves the words and syllables advanced; To music of the mind they rose and danced.
The forest glen her new repose for thought A sunny view When there she found herself, all else forgot, Or little knew.
Parched, the thirsty soil cries out, Longing for relief from drought, Respite from the heat.
All along the winding trail Misty sunlight hangs its veil On the boughs of trees.