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A Poets Dream
Beneath the moon's silvery gleam,
A tale unfolds, a poet's dream.
Pale light inspires, a muse set free,
Her pen a wayward butterfly, so it would seem.
But hark! A sound, a bird in flight,
A golden pheasant, its plumage bright.
Its hiss a whisper, a gentle call,
Beneath the moon's silvery gleam.
Its plumage shimmers, iridescent hues,
A rainbow tapestry, dreams to muse.
Its gentle coo, a soothing spell,
A tale unfolds, a poet's dream.
Like Orpheus' lyre, it sets her heart ablaze,
Igniting verses that ignite and craze.
The moonlight guides, the pheasant's sound, just like a symphony,
Pale light inspires, a muse set free.
Through night's embrace, her words take flight,
A tapestry of imagery, painted with all her might.
The pheasant's call, a constant guide,
Her pen a wayward butterfly, so it would seem.
#APoetsDream
© Lai Montes
A tale unfolds, a poet's dream.
Pale light inspires, a muse set free,
Her pen a wayward butterfly, so it would seem.
But hark! A sound, a bird in flight,
A golden pheasant, its plumage bright.
Its hiss a whisper, a gentle call,
Beneath the moon's silvery gleam.
Its plumage shimmers, iridescent hues,
A rainbow tapestry, dreams to muse.
Its gentle coo, a soothing spell,
A tale unfolds, a poet's dream.
Like Orpheus' lyre, it sets her heart ablaze,
Igniting verses that ignite and craze.
The moonlight guides, the pheasant's sound, just like a symphony,
Pale light inspires, a muse set free.
Through night's embrace, her words take flight,
A tapestry of imagery, painted with all her might.
The pheasant's call, a constant guide,
Her pen a wayward butterfly, so it would seem.
#APoetsDream
© Lai Montes
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