Wordgrowth

who are you?

you who seek to tell

me what to write, how

it should sound to make

my words take flight,

poetry is a magic garden

in which many species

bud and grow, and what

soil is best for one, others

cannot hope to know,

feel free to walk amongst

the multicoloured shrubs

breathe in their heady bouquet,

even a thorny ragged thistle

has to have its day,

enter, stay, think, breathe

take your troubled ease,

rest quietly, don’t explain

inhale the hypnotic essence

of this rare poetic breeze,

but if graffiti is your wont

and cultured beds and

borders are what you hate,

take the long path, past the

nettles beds and compost

and leave by the secret

hidden gate

Published by grahamrsherwood