Sitting still in my rocking chair
And lost in my own thoughts,
My mind was full but page was bare,
My words were tied all in knots.
I needed to write but couldn't find
The words, the rhymes, the lines.
I wished I could loose and unbind
My tongue from its confines.
I craved some help, inspiration,
Or a conduit per se.
The moon began its rotation,
The night was slipping away.
Then jumbled thoughts were impeded
By a child's lowly cry.
Up the stairs comfort was needed
And a hushing and a sigh.
As I held my boy close to me
The right words began to spread.
Like a caged bird at last set free,
The lines soared out of my head.
I placed him back in bed again
To dream his little dreams,
I sat back down, pick up my pen
And these words flowed from my streams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem