She sifted the power to express in the palm of her
dainty hand. Smudged deep in carmine ink; etched
clear upon the pallid sand. “Pledge me good in wine
and words; to run through fields and sing with birds.”
To the wanton will of poetic hands; poured a wit so
deep and a skill sublime. She therefore bade presence
of mind; to bolster creed whether reason or rhyme.
“Nor mind nor soul. Lo! only an aching heart; has the
power to conceive perpetual work of art.”
Blessed are the ones with robust hands;
Faced with feat of tomorrow’s demand.
Photo credits: www.steveweed.com
Posted for Poetics @ dVerse Poets Pub
Posted on Poetry Pantry @ Poets United