An ode to a poet

With pen in hand,
And white of sheet,
The poets soul,
Opens to meet,
His heart so full,
Of love and life.
He writes of toils,
He writes of strife.
What'er it is,
That burdens him,
He puts it down,
With ink and pen.
Some tears may flow,
It's he who knows,
From whence it came,
What is it's aim.
He speaks of love
As white as dove
And feelings true
That start anew
He tells his tale.
Then as we read,
And feelings flow,
We then proceed,
Line by line,
Verse by verse,
Savoring every,
Word dispersed.
Ending with truth,
That he holds dear.
Hoping it falls,
On grateful ear.

Floria

To Shou Lao, I do thank you my friend. Your assistance to me is so appreciated. This is the only way to learn. From better poets as yourself.I am now proud of this piece. Regards. Floria
An 0de to a Poet

With pen in hand against white sheet
The poet opens soul to meet
His heart- so full of love and life,
He writes of toils and then of strife,
Whatever burden harries him
He carves it out with ink and pen.

Some tears may flow, it's he who knows
From whence it came and what the aim.
He speaks of love as white as doves
And feelings true that start anew.

He rolls his tale out as we read
The feelings flow as we proceed
And line by line; and verse by verse
We savor every line immersed
In craft and truth, which he holds dear
And hopes it falls on grateful ear.


Floria