A poem for National Poetry Day.
The Writer
A writer writes with pen in hand
He writes of things about the land
He sees without his eyes you see
He sees the things we cannot see
He sees the seed beneath the tree
And writes about what seed will be
Sometimes he writes of terrible things
And pens the words that terrible brings
Sometimes he pens with ink so dry
Those words won’t come, they simply die
On page of white, no ink to stain
But then the words come back again
And slow but sure the tide will rise
And words come back to swell his pride
For every writer who writes does know
That he only writes to complete the show
From mind the words on paper flow
And letters swell and concepts grow
And soon his thoughts on paper fly
And sometimes thoughts catch reader’s eye
