Life is poetry waiting to be written
What power in these lines be
Which we call poetry
Moving through us like a silent sea
In waves of ecstasy
Or half-breaths of sweet sorrow thrill
The heart when night is still
As grief and passions spill
From a poet’s quill
Oh, you know I have to love this.
Mike, I'm not offended if you are being polite, but one of your previous comments sort of touched that 'sweet' spot:)
Thank you always for your visit and your thoughts.