A row of letters
written
attracts other words
as in all else
I strive to make a whole

like ants around a heap
they gather in my mind
some put on hold
as later they will come to use
but not before they're weighed
judged apt

then they're considered
their rhythm
rhyme and meaning coincides  
a flash of recognition gives them impetus
they play their subtle game
running round the corridors of my brain

then out they pour in unison
a choir of  random thoughts
gels into a poem unexpressed
the letters gather on the page
to my surprise
I recognise their message
develop it  
to sit back and sigh
was it truly I who wrote it
it must be a new life before I die

Margaret Ann Waddicor 18th December 2015