A string of words

like silken threads

flow with grace

and elegance

And pour on paper

through the lips

reddened by wine

from luscious grapes

Fresh and without

deceit or pretense

not  much misted

but yet influenced

By my -our – world

and all its children

by vivid emotions

and life’s dividends

–

Oh birds from bards,

like prayers divine

that may not but

may somehow rhyme,

Flap, fly and chime

at all odd hours

for birds and hills

and trees and flowers

And everything

that they, you, I

can behold with

beauty in our eye