My musings are my very own,
Expressions sometimes true sometimes not,
Words & feelings seeking a home,
Fanciful dreams & wishes at times are sorrow frought,
My art is wove into stories & rhyme;
And then again there's possibly deceit-oh! what a crime,
But that's the way a poet works,
With musings to entice, entrance with many quirks,
One can never be sure what's on my mind;
As I pen an air of mystery often & that's what you'll find.
Spiritsong,
Jan.26/11
I don't want to deceive here; as I write for the most part honestly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem