Poems are not alive Until they are written There can be no rushing Nothing can be forced Sometimes they trickle Like water over rocks I imagine that sound Peaceful, almost tranquil A signature of rhythm Captured on paper An artist might paint it The picture is vivid I feel its life And jot my words Amazed with the process Powers that occur But do not question Accept the gift Little paper boats That are kept adrift Then captured down stream Before they can move Out to the sea and Lost for eternity Stanski June 2, 2018 ^
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Steve Haarman 