To express in prose

Is the work of a poet

For any fellow may give a rose

But few a sonnet

I cannot fathom which I love most,

The romance of chasing a muse

Or the art of drawing with words

my deepest truths

It is as beautiful as a ballerinas dance

the way a pen motions to the rhythm of my thoughts

It is found in the heart of Romeo and in the air of France

Or so this is what my favorite novelist have taught

Oh! But it is the only language I know

For I see it in the sky and in my Fathers eyes

It is all but limited to writing

It is my lullaby