The mists of evening shimmer in solitude,
desolate and cool the night descends;
Alert and alive--a poet's desired dream,
cascading hearts to miraculous ends.

Wading alone in the lake of divinity,
tossing stones which have called my name;
Floating words melt along the waters,
which soon, I must grasp and claim.

Holding my breath as the Muse gently calls,
in rushing sounds of translucent waves;
Waterfalls of life surround me now,
and the poem starts taking shape.

Left spellbound in the crisp autumn air,
I'm dazzled by nature's delight;
And the words which paint this portrait,
soon explode in magnificent light.