A Poem is a Ponder
A poem is a ponder
An inner thought with wings
The lens through which the poet
Sees her life and other things.
They drift about her conscience
Where ifs and maybes play,
Ethereal dust bunnies
Waiting to be swept away.
And I tease them from my conscience
And I tickle them from dreams
I sweep them onto paper
Or onto my netbook screen.
And I show them to the world
And I give them each a name
And I ask if anyone can
Recognise what they became.
#17
Linda Studley 
I really enjoyed that. Thanks.
You are most welcome! Thanks for visiting!