then onto the paper, like a storm just begun.
Sweet words that guide me through sorrow and pain.
I write them in moonlight, in sunlight, in rain.
In daytime or dream land they spill from the heart.
With the power to turn a daytime to dark.
And just as a springtime can turn into fall,
so are the memories my poems can recall.
So like my tears, the ink fills the pen,
that puts down my thoughts from the poet within.
These words are like trinkets I kept from my past,
words for the future for many to grasp.
Sometimes the words are too perfect and strong,
so I give them a gift, and I turn them to song.