Unwritten

The best poems are never written,

they pass in sacred silence

No stanza captures,

a winter sunrise over a snow-draped pine forest

No meter equals,

the joy found in a first kiss

No style matches,

the sadness of losing a beloved friend

No alliteration belongs,

to the sore muscles and satisfaction of a good day’s work

No such license,

was ever granted a Poet

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3 responses to “Unwritten

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