Posted by Self on
I nurse a dream of being a poet
Writing like Frosts, Shakespeares and Poes
Yet each glance at works of old poets
Sees my tall dream standing on it's toes
Reading those lines so old and new
I marvel at this art that sweet words paint
How so subtle her sharp curves hue
Fair etiquettes on a soulful chant
I stand before the picture of my dream
Watching its shadows meet the face of the sun
With sparkles and glitters in steamy streams
Words of old have my dream, reborn