I mix my drink with stir-er being my pen,
and bubbles the floating words in mind.

Here's to the writer :
A woman poet self-assured
scribing inside dreamscapes.
Or man poet that reflects
and speaks his visions in clarity.

My glass is raised,
to one who writes with tears of ink
or vibrations of happy heart.

Here's to the poet
who sings like birds,
makeing their words fly
across vellum sky.

To the one who calls themselves a sage
walking with staff like pen,
moving in shadows
exposing dark to light.

My glass is high
proud to be in a family of scribes
who document a life's journey.
One's who rest all experiences
in backpack called the poem.

My glass is raised
every-time pen lifts,
at poems conclusion.
Hear, hear!