Thursday, December 24, 2015

We as poets


It does not need words to show
we might never reach the end of our sentence,
that our very presence is a message
of greeting and farewell.

Thus to embrace, a plum ripe
falls through space, into a hand out held,
where we, ever as poets,
come to dwell.



4 comments:

Jonathan Chant said...

A lovely poem for Christmas eve.

William Michaelian said...

Best wishes, Jonathan, and thank you again.

Mr. Allen said...

Beautiful!

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Scott!