Is it an expression, a digression maybe,
To tell the world of love and hate,
Or what you ate; maybe that your having a baby!
What makes up a poem?
Is it just words, similes, metaphor, and metre;
Or is it your angst, your felicitous love,
Something so much deeper?
We see poets everyday, and everywhere we look,
And we read, see, smell and taste the poetry
In every face, smile, frown, every flower blossom,
Every branch in the wind that is shook.
You can take it all in, forget, and it is gone the while;
But I urge you to take the second, Stop!
Look up through the trees at the sky, Watch the dance of the people in the street,
Feel the grass through your toes and feet, and take a deep breath and smile.
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