A poet is a strange creature.
Filled with such eccentricity.
Inspired by fire.
Dancing with diamonds.
Playing with devils and fiddling with flowerpots.
Fighting with mischief, sobbed into a handkerchief.
Mopped up by words, carried away on the wings of birds.
Making babies every day.
Babies of poems, made out of all things.
Let us poets see what the next line brings.
(c) Livvi