The Maiden Called Maryann Poem by Denis Martindale

I saw her in a midnight dream,
She read the words I wrote...
She thought my poem quite supreme
And of it soon took note...
She mulled it over in her mind,
Reflecting for a while,
As if to her it was refined,
In rhythm and in style.

A seed was planted in her heart,
A hope to share my verse,
Responding to the poet's art
Before the idea blurs...
For words have powers all their own,
As every prophet knows,
Some warm the heart, some chill the bone,
Some blossom like the rose...

The dream foretold her destiny,
The weeks, the months and years...
The city of adversity
Was home to many tears...
Yet when our tears are wiped away,
God grants us smiles anew...
If we read poems every day,
They help to see us through...


Denis Martindale, copyright, April 2011.