HOW POEMS ARE WRITTEN

Aug 18, 2009

Stand back now, I’m gonna opine.
If I can just see the first line.
Do I want to write--
‘bout things in the night
Or write about this life of mine?

Let’s see now, it's coming to me.
I’ll write of things that I do see.
There up in the air--
A hawk soaring there.
A wond'rous sight for all to see.

Is he searching his meal to dine?
I hope he’s not looking at mine.
I fixed me a lunch--
It’s not his to munch.
I hope he finds elsewhere to dine.

Oh my, I see a strange creature.
Can hardly make out it’s features.
It is too scarey--
It’s old and hairy.
It’s mirroring my own features.
.
I wonder what else can be found.
Should I stop this looking around?
Can’t tell what I’ll find
That crosses my mind.
I’ll finish this poem profound.

By Sheila Weaver
AKA: Peacefullyabiding