“The nettle is often the neighbour to the rose.”
Descend, O, Poesy in limpid early beams!
Dispense therapy that heals.
Alight on angels’ wings,
And then, the bard inspire,
By the mystical muse, to sing
To a world that sleeps.
Hark, like morning light poesy softly creeps.
Poetry ushers a new morn,
Brings Hope,Tranquility and Grace
To the lonely heart torn.
And then like the gentle whisper of dawn
It plays strains delightful,
To quiet the soul’s strife and storm.
Its fingers it curls innocently
Like a child, and then,
Wraps them around your soul.
Ah how tenderly, Poetry soothes
The aching heart,
And tear laden visage.
Poetry, soul’s fare thou art!
Stellar is Poerty’s spark.
In chaos one sees the glimmer of wavering light
Ah ignominy’s transmuted into a luminous night.
In darkness, O reader seek, this stellar light.
Picture Courtesy:Hannah Olinger