Inside The Lead Poem by Lynne Crandall
Inside The Lead
I stare out the window at the gathering stormclouds,
My pencil posed above the blank paper
I can feel inspiration swirling around me
From the majestic rumble of thunder
To the smell of rain in the air.
How exactly is a poem supposed to start?
My pencil is still hovering above the paper,
Its meaningful words still trapped inside the lead.
Maybe I just need to sharpen it again.
Oh my goodness! I love thinking of the words trapped inside of the lead. That is really cool! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 4:46:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Ooh! I like that! At that point I just kinda break my pencil and get out of the house... Heh. Forget sharpening...