My Poet

Most people come in prose—

masterpieces that the world

could not do without.

But when You wrote me,

you wrote poetry—



and rhyming You.

And when I look around,

I see glory

where others see cliche—

bits of poetry

sprouting in the grass,

jumping trees with squirrels,

resting moon-like in the clouds.

I am happy

catching these,

thinking deeply,

lost in beauty;

happiest of all,

reading You—

the Poetry of life.


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