Dust gathers in the shadow of my page,
where words ignored and fears allayed
uphold the pillars of thought,
transfer they do to ink as sought,
and all the sentiments that aught to be
the silken echo of my muse,
oozing from this pen in hand
upon the parchment grand.
Surprised I am
with all she whispers so beguiling,
and as words inspiring find the page,
my mind in serendipitous hold,
ease each one to place in beauty’s keep,
rhyming souls my muse and me,
and pleasured phrases land,
is if from soaring flight they stand.
Herald those angels sing,
when lines of light in minds do bring
a beauteous chime of wonderment,
flowing tributes to language bared
in precise and contiguous reign,
framed in gilded frames of joy,
restored in thoughts aloft employ
the beauty in our souls.
And the poet scrolls,
his heart so light his soul released
to higher clouds, where sky enshrouds
a heavenly embrace,
a lilting melody of words so great
to have pealed back doubts and
make whole in precious harmony,
words of elegance and grace.
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