by Martha Mason
I sing the song of hope
I read the stories that they wrote
how like myself they live alone.
I dream of words, stretching thoughts,
and seeing things, with tender eyes.
Only beauty and song can fill my world,
of poetic paradise.
At times my thoughts deceive me.
Scatter like some frightened birds.
Come and go, as if to tease me.
As I try searching for a word.
I walk the path, that nature casts
A small flower, or a tender blade of grass
All these to me can sing.
We build words, around these simple things.
I speak of love.
A meaning deep, a consuming natural thing.
A soul gift, dear to the heart.
All hopes center on it's fragile wings.
As we gather thoughts and store them
Carefully place them here and there.
We capture all the beauty,
That only dreamers share.