The Poem

A Poem

My poems go out like smoke from a pipe,
Sweet and fragrant deep in the night.
Tales of thoughts feelings and hurts,
Pours from my heart chapter and verse.
That could be sung, repeated, rehearsed,
By ones with hope, with love, with trust.
Or by ones without for they understand,
Scripting a verse from heart to hand.
Adding their own with point made blank,
(To own it is great)
To allow one to think perception untold,
To the poet contribute a line made of gold.