Sunday, April 3, 2011

A bit o poetry

I aspire to write
for that I often rise
under a hovering cloud
that is rather dim and misty.

I write of happy things,
the things we know of
only far in never-never land.
I do so to flee from the cloud.

Put me not in a corner
for that I too rise to lilacs,
daisies, irises, and mistletoes.
They too dwell where I live.