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Aug 2016
a poem wrote me
almost before I knew.
my hand my mind my pen
just a muse
for sentiment that oozes
like sap from a tree
after Winter harsh and cold
has just released the grip
of icy fingers
melting into Spring.
a poem wrote me
while hungry earth
beneath my feet
waited for the sugar
nourishing seeds
growing the flowers
to prove that life goes on.
my life goes on
because a poem writes me
What just happened?!Β Β The curse of random poetry.
Amy H
Written by
Amy H  45/F/United States of Abandon
(45/F/United States of Abandon)   
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