Whispers Of The Wind Poem by Bill Simmons

From the midnight of his passions
That courses through his veins
From the whispers of the wind
That call out his name

From the halls of imaginations
He does not understand
Can this be, is it wisdom
What it is that guides his hand

He picks up William Shakesphere
And Longfellow he too
And Robert Frost reads word for word
For what they were meant to do

Somewhere in the midnight
Sometimes only candle light
What it is that drives him on
So shall push his pen to write

With the lay of pen and paper
And as he writes as so I do
He knows now what he truly is
A poet he writes for you.

Copyright 2005 Bill Simmons
aka BillWilliamStar@aol.com