Poets Are We

A shy sort of lot
Bashful, but not weak
As we unfold thought
Too honest to speak
For it seems unbidden
Our hearts are stirred
By what is hidden
Within a word
As images leap
From innocent script
And life’s passion bleeds
From our fingertips

Are you lonely tonight
And dreaming of home?
Let love hold you tight
In the arms of a poem
Poets never sleep
We are hopelessly smitten
With an insatiable need
To write the unwritten
My dear, do not fret
Over what yesterday stole
To live in regret
Is blight to the soul

The poet is a weaver
Of cast-away string
A quiet believer
Of paper and ink
A poet is a lover
And you are my love
Around me you hover
Beneath and above
Within me you bask
Torment and beguile
I tip my flask
To your lips, and I smile

Janet~