The Poet

She’s a poet you know, and she loves her rhyme,

She crafts and shapes, she teases and creates

Spells for readers, a world without time:

Space for her thoughts, what she loves, what she hates.

I was caught, trapped by her magic refrain

Never thinking of danger, nor pain ahead

I stumbled, I fell, I tried to explain

But my words lay lost, rotting, dying then dead.

We left the forest with its safe embrace,

Resolved to walk on and look way ahead,

All I took was the memory of her face,

She took her words, found a new path to tread.

There was love in those words, faith in the deeds,

And somewhere quietly my heart still bleeds.

~