Words flow out through my finger tips
In little eddies or big slicks
My mental crane casts round and picks
A new selection
It's a bit like going on the spree
The choice of goods bewilders me
Ideas arrive and wander free
In loose connection.
Such a mental process is arcane
It happens; one cannot explain
How just a few lines can contain
Such depth of thought
The poet's role appears to be
A perception of reality
Expressed in terms that all agree
Cannot be taught...
(c) Poet in the woods 2014
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