Into the minds they go
Literary poets with naked cloths
Wordy little hoe’s with books and bows
Pulitzers carried in pedagogical sack
A slice above Webster’s new world
Be they lonely men or genius grown girls
Mining the silt within our cloud
Milking words that scream out loud
And quite one twos
Colorfully read greens and blues
Accolade, acerbity, witty, and attune
Those whom remain in this winters June
It’s for the thin streaks of sun they wear
In hair strings of words that say I dare
Uncovering the coverings of done
Lucubration with a background in song
That feeling of living alive
The spring of the highest dive
Under bottoms of unfiltered waters
Volumes in poetic mutters
The suns must rise in the east
Slewing the beast to the west
Stumbling in thick honey lust
Tumbling for a word is a must
Poetry is mans only tree
Behold her red golden leaves
The trunk of man has worn free
The forest is growing new trees
