T’was a mourning of broken authors,
A gathering, nay, a proliferation of hopeful poets looking to thrive
Apart yet together working on their own separate lives
Locked in their own worlds full of life’s lessons, love, hopes and lies
A coffee shop library away from early winters chill
Look at them working, not a mind resting or still
Could there be ghosts wrapped up within?
Romance under mistletoe as Christmas sidles in?
So many thought so many ides so many words ink upon paper words appearing on screens
Look at us working, admire out craft
Sometimes quite elegant, other times quite daft
This is what we do; so pity us for the poor fools we are
Trying to entertain, reaching high into the heavens full of stars
That is our nature, that is what we are,
So look fine and dear reader look at a world full of stories and rhymes
And find sweet escape in these darkest of times.
simono1968 