Write a poem, he said,
It will do you good, he said.
I know not how, said I,
Where to start, what to say, what about, said I.

Think of something, someone, somewhen, he said,
Sit with pen and expectant paper,
Allow words to unveil themselves
From deep inside you.
So that I did, did I.

My first night
Experienced a storm in the woods, did I,
All magical and mystical.
Standing in the rain,
With a flash of lightening,
a crash high above.
Sensing tension in the air,
Feeling murmur in the earth,
Caught in the moment
Not scared was I.

Moved to tears of joy,
I was entranced,
enthralled.
enrapt’d.

I grabbed my expectant pen and paper
To capture the moment.
Words flowed from nowhere
Summing up
What I saw,
What I heard,
How I felt.
Something wondrous,
Something incredulous.
Something extraordinary.

I was finding my voice,
was I.