the leaves rustle as they rush across the ground
the stream giiggles as it makes it, s way to the sea
the birds sing of the day to come
as i walk and muse trying to sort
my thoughts, to make some sense
of the news i heard today
a poet i was to be
me a poet no not me
how could it be
how did it come to be
poets are rich in words
they paint pictures
within your minds
me i sit and write but
no pictures come to mind
nothing is all i see
for words escape me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem