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  • Love

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    As twilight comes, the sun setting low,
    I sit alone on the lake shore
    I think of my loved one back home
    And wonder if she sees the same sky I do
    And, in the peaceful silence of my dreams
    I somehow escape from the
    Surrounding realities
    But now a fish jumps and brings me
    Abruptly back
    For the moment - my dream is gone
    But I smile
    Knowing that when I sleep tonight
    The dream will return

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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