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| a book to inspire me |
The months in which we play
Are like a passing day
They are filled with love and joy
For every growing boy or girl
Life never seems to end for them
As they gently sing a song
When the day has ended
They are full with sleepiness
But are eager to start the next day
Their mother’s tuck them in with love
As fathers watch protectively
With dreams floating in their heads
The month in which we play
Pass once more
***
What is Poetry Starts?
…poems and prose from now back to teen years
…remembering a first writing love
…pumping the creative well yet again
…silencing the internal critic