I witnessed the calf's first steps
On matchstick legs.
Mother's tongue towel;
A giant of love and pride.
There was poetry inside.

I've seen deaf lovers gesticulate a
Love story across a room full
Of walls of noise and chatter.
Like smugglers they would hide,
Sneaking poetry inside.

I've seen old mothers stand,
Back straight, denying war
Machinery access.
A protective circle of lives,
Around the
Poetry inside.

I've poked at something
Dead in a ditch
With a stick just to look at the
Maggots and bugs
Couldn't help it though I tried;
There was poetry inside.

I traced her face with mine,
I gazed into
Her spacious eyes as we'd
Unite and move together
And that warmth could not have lied;
There was poetry inside.

Each thing a gallery, that's how I see
The world -as if I read it-
Which I swear by and abide:
It is glaced with art and colour;
It has poetry inside.