Sunday, September 25, 2011

Poet's Quill

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



  1. Mike, I'm not offended if you are being polite, but one of your previous comments sort of touched that 'sweet' spot:)


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