Reading some of my poetry, she said,
“Are you barking up the wrong tree?”
I knew what she meant,
for this art is not something I had learnt.

Tearing up a bark is easy,
matching words made me queasy.
I knew what she meant,
yet I was not ready to vent.

Dreaming is a daily ritual,
writing needs to flow as natural,
I knew what she meant,
yet I had a thoughtful bent.

I started to read more,
bark became paper to teach me some more,
I knew what she meant,
yes, a slight nudge from her has been god sent.