Come with me, dare to taste the yen of poetry, for oh
The heart can traverse fathoms where a foot will never go
Come, let its letters fuel what fetters of stringent law
Can never render; wonder, the accomplishment of awe
The foot for all its purpose practices pure principle
Of backward, forward, upward, onward walk-run-dance-stumble
The heart, oh but the heart can fly on syllables where ink
Turns letters into pictures and gray day to raving pink
Come with me then and step across cold thresholds steeped in
fact
Climb past these elemental vestibules to worlds intact
Where lyric, lilt and rhyme render splendor with tender
verse
And do not think too hard, for bards are exempt from Law’s
curse
Kick off your wooden shoes, slip into gossamer and silk
Then climb the vine that leads to lands that flow with
honeyed milk
And do not be afraid to dance, or at the least to try
For in the arms of poetry to fall is but to fly
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!