Oh Bard, wielding a tool mighty and spiky
Mightier than either the sword or rod,
You reign as monarch in fancy’s domain
Sketching life in all variety and mode

Which with pain and strife fraught
Or bright with gaiety and grace
In finer yarn than the gossamer thread
On a fabric of words in befitting verse

You steal away from the noisy crowd
Into the stillness of the cloistered cell
To dwell with Fancy’s mystic charms
Weaving downy dreams at will

You recount forgotten tales of yore
Of ****** battles won and lost,
Of lovers united, amour defiled,
Conjuring memories from abysmal past

You hearken to the moans of lovelorn souls
And sing of beauty in ditties fine
Triggering sparks into flames grow
In umpteen hearts that pine and whine

Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
Racing with the deer loping past,
You wander into mysterious woods
Where flowers, their richest odors cast

Your ears intent on the song of birds
That comes floating from the far off groves
And the whir of cicadas on the bark of trees
Breaking the calm of twilight eves

Alone you saunter the stretching strands,
Watching virulent breakers in fury heave
Often your heart dancing with the tide
And swinging with the rhythm of rising wave

You feast on the gleam of the auburn sun
And the speckled blue of the infinite skies
Watching the day dying in flame
And the night in a diadem of stars vies

All that’s lovesome meets your eyes
And commune to you in profuse delight
Which you turn into rhyme and rhythm
For the whole of mankind to devour and digest

From your harp flow symphonies sweet
Songs of longing, love and lust
Of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
Fuelling hearts with vigorous zest

Though outlawed by the great sage of Greece,
Branding the poet, aberrant and a fool
Oft beneath the façade of his wayward thoughts,
Lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul.

She's the type of precious flower
That grows well,
And thrives,
In nature's sacred rich earth,

Each new blessed morning
She reaches out to the sunslight -
She knows its energy is responsible
For her daily blessed rebirth.

She's the type of precious flower
That grows to her full potential
After a heavy rain,

She can handle the wild winds -
She can handle a little roughness,
And a little bit of pain.

She's the type of precious flower
Who does not compete,
Or compare herself,
With any other flower,

She knows her worth,
And she is comfortable
Being herself -
This is her special superpower.

She's the type of precious flower
That possesses a rare uniqueness -
An original beauty,
Inside and out,

She prides herself
In living for the joy of life,
She is grateful
For the simplicities in life -
And for being blessed
With the gift of life;
For being chosen to sprout.

By Lady R.F ©2016