Echo Of Poets From Long Ago
To sing the songs, to see the sights,
to walk along the lake on cool, starry nights.
The scenic route, wherever it might be,
along a forest, or by the Sea.
I love to watch as birds take to flight,
their cries upon the breeze at night.
Sifting sand in my hands, as water tickles my toes,
the feel of old Jack Frost as he nips at my cold nose.
The fall of leaves, the change of color,
I love this land like no other.
Long, lost poets echo in my ear,
as sleep now pecks ever so near.
Poe, a gifted man was he,
brought ''The Raven' to life for me.
Shakespeare a more complex man,
confused the daylights right out of every man.
All the rest, God bless their souls,
now sleep in books from long ago.