The Poet

The Poet

The poet sits beneath the tree
Penning his latest words
His mind is full of pictures
The sky is full of birds.

The poet writes of nature,
Breathing in the sweet country air
The noise of a distant tractor
Is all that he can hear.

The creatures of the field
Do not fear the bard
They know he will not harm them
He holds them in high regard.

The poet loves this quiet spot
And spends a long, long time
Creating colourful word pictures
And lines that beautifully rhyme.