Pen Poem by welkin siskin

This pen shall live beyond and out of the common in describing the nature;
The wind soughed
In the tryst where we meet,
Across the garden on the bough
Of the tree
where hungry monkeys feed.
The rustling leaves down gathered
To be fossils eventually, dance,
I put some first-rate glance
To find the sky happier than it usually is.
The roaring brook pass through the tree.
I let my pen to be a poet.
@ welkin Siskin