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