The life in words is the poem
yet created. An unrefined treasure,
a stone of beauty desperate for cutting,
a tree to be pruned.
It’s a labor of decision until the pen strikes open
the curtain of memory and a visionary dream
bursts to the surface under curious hands.
Songs of souls live on the pages, gathered tight
in blue sky bouquets; release the
hounds the message is worth chasing.
The mystery of words finds comfort in
searching, finding their order and achieving the goal.
All stories resemble falling leaves, though
scattered they have a body.
Roger Singer 