Poetry Is Bliss

Penning down one's thoughts, 

Originating from the heart, 

Emerging from the fine nib

That dances across the paper, like a

Rivulet through the mountain crevasses

Yodeling its own merry tune. 

Imagination, that is converted, 

Sees the light of the world. 

Black or blue, the ink hue,

Laced with letters spurting magic, 

Inked with passion and love,

Seething with emotions, 

Serving bliss to the reader.