In the year 2003, I sat alone in an empty house at mid-night  The computer was reasonably good company so we hung out together that night. Uninvited, an invitation from  a publishing company  dared me to write a Poem. I glared back at the screen and wrote the following Poem  This Poem was published in a tiny book called,  The Color of Life, along with other Poems.   It was cataloged in the Library of Congress. Copyright 2003 ISBN 0-7951-5239-6 Watermark Press.


Poetry is like a leaf filled tree,

that spreads its words all over me.

If somehow I miss what is said in prose,

then poetry sheds what I need to know.

Its grace is filled with words that disarm,

creeping over my soul with charm.

Thoughts that well might be lost over time,

rush to me swiftly in cadence and rhyme.

Cover me always with whispers and shouts,

and I’ll sit ‘neath your leaves never to pout.

How dare I write this close to mid-night,

when nary a poem did I ever write.

Mosswood 2003


~ by mosswood on June 21, 2012.

4 Responses to “Poetry”

  1. what a lovely and beautiful poem. thanks for sharing it nana

  2. You are welcome, Tree Hugger.

  3. Very nice Mom!

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