Poetry Poem by Sophia White

To speak in paragraphs is fine,
I suppose some find it best.
But to conjure measured rhyme
That throbs with hearts and paces time,
Is indeed the cleverest.

Anyone can say a word
Or string them up like beans,
But how sweet is language heard
When by passion’s whip is spurred,
Not for an end – for means.

Prose suits those who stay inside
And speak in monotone.
Poetry’s for those who glide
Into the sun with eager stride
And see the world as all their own.