April 1, 2021
It’s early morning, quiet, still.
I use a keypad, not a quill.
Some work with metal, wood or stone,
Their happy place to be alone.
For me it’s words on which I thrive.
They form the lines and come alive.
Who would have guessed that at my age
I’m finding words I can arrange?
I love the rhythm as they flow,
Where each word forms, I don’t yet know.
I look inside, keep finding more.
For me it’s like a candy store.
Words float like gentle flakes of snow.
I guess that’s why I love it so.
A quiet, peaceful time alone,
To smile, to weep, to sigh or groan.