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Poem.
With ink and rhyme, the poet's art,
A dance of words, a beating heart.
Through lines they weave, a tapestry bright,
Capturing moments, in day or night.
With pen in hand, they paint the scene,
A canvas vast, where thoughts convene.
Each word a brushstroke, delicate, precise,
Crafting worlds of wonder, of love, of vice.
In sonnets sweet or ballads bold,
The poet's tale is often told.
With metaphors and similes, they play,
In realms of fantasy, they stray.
From whispered whispers to thunderous roar,
Their verses echo forevermore.
In every stanza, a piece of their soul,
In every poem, a story untold.
So let us cherish the poet's song,
For in their words, we all belong.
In poetry's embrace, we find our grace,
A timeless journey, in this sacred space.
@PDSR7177
© PDSR
A dance of words, a beating heart.
Through lines they weave, a tapestry bright,
Capturing moments, in day or night.
With pen in hand, they paint the scene,
A canvas vast, where thoughts convene.
Each word a brushstroke, delicate, precise,
Crafting worlds of wonder, of love, of vice.
In sonnets sweet or ballads bold,
The poet's tale is often told.
With metaphors and similes, they play,
In realms of fantasy, they stray.
From whispered whispers to thunderous roar,
Their verses echo forevermore.
In every stanza, a piece of their soul,
In every poem, a story untold.
So let us cherish the poet's song,
For in their words, we all belong.
In poetry's embrace, we find our grace,
A timeless journey, in this sacred space.
@PDSR7177
© PDSR
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