Poems drop down from the sky of creation into hearts and minds
Of poets around the globe,illustrating on the canvas of the soul
The joy pain victory of living in the days of humankind
Poems are to be eaten like fruit by the spirit inside
Bitten into by the eager mind, the senses like mental fingers
Of probing lick the juice of essence that run down inside
Ready and ripe for the wondrous taking
One reading a poem needs no spoon fork or knife
Not even a plate  tablecloth or napkin
For the poem itself is the main meal and is all things to each  hungry
Reader, stem rind pit skin
To feed the inside