Deliver me a poem today.
It’s time; I’m overdue.
Meanwhile, snow rests on branches,
geese lift from a field,
early morning light glows
on the gold of winter corn.
Infuse me with words.
I want to spew fine lines,
delivered with perfect breaks,
so poignant, a reader’s heart
can only swell in resonance.
Enough. We all know, a poem’s arrival
is certain to be inconvenient,
forcing an unsuspecting poet
to resort to napkins and dull half pencils,
lucky to salvage even a morsel
of what might have been.
