(upon reading poetry on www.poetry.com)
I had a vision of how perfect life should be:
A muse sat down, singin' poetry to me,
and in this dream, all lonely hearts did find,
a loving equal: joy to the soul and mind.
I dreamt of snowflakes that flutter in the wind,
and buds, awaiting, yearning to begin,
to sprout, envigorate, enliven, and break through,
to sing of spring, Its Poetry, to you.
What silly dream, communing with a muse.
She shivered, using winter as a ruse
to leave this mortal age of "no time",
to wait for spring, when poetry will rhyme.
24 января, 2002