Swansong

Blank canvass of my notebook beckoning for ink

Eager pages spread open wide

Awaiting a soft brush of my wrist

To warm the sheets

Like a lover returning

With my poetic endearments, whispering

To the memory of trees between blue lines

“Remember when you drank sunlight

Sweet rain quenching your fire

Allow my words to hold you, again you will root

Deeply into earth.”

And the paper rustles in the wind

Dancing in from an open window

A forest of pages sings once more

Her Swansong into the ether

As a canvass comes to life

In a poet’s wayward dream

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