Speaking Of Poetry Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Talking of poems

I too love poetry
Love them when they speak
They are soft and sweet
They are sad, caressing
They listen; sympathize, empathize
They talk of depths of seas and skies,
They go deep in deserts as breeze and or wind
They are high, they are low and are deep
I see the white carpet of snow, peeking leaves
I see the fruit fall of branch to bough, then…
I see worms and the bees, butterflies
And candles and the moths
I see them all in all
They are muse
I, amused
I sit, watch for long times
Admire ants and wasps,
As part of our nature
Our mother

But have to turn, divert
I must write of ignored
The poor on the roadside
And the past, forgotten
And…and…and…

This is why some think that I am boring.