In the reflection of the ocean, rolling in at my front door
The wind does blow...in from the South of that Im sure
In the midst of winters white, a poets blood does run thin
Dreams are not meant to break, but blossom from within
Who am I to say such things, for I am shackled too
Once the words start to escape...there is nothing either of us can do
Prisoners who know no cage, just slaves to the verse
Passion filled lonely souls...victims of the poets curse