The Word
Like blowing bubbles into the sunset
And watching them disappear
Like breathing life into dull glass
Air pockets and all
Such are the pleasures of an artist
Taking in life's joys
Finding music in the midst of the noise
I sense the need to create
To draw from the well of inspiration
My soul is made of wind and water
Art is my good fortune and fate
A spark inside twinkles and ignites
My heart warms with delight
Like a hearth on a winter's night
When I reach the end of my day
I return to my craft
Fresh ideas calm the soul
And give my mind some room to play
I hear a sound: the beating drum
Accompanying the fife
No matter whether spoken or sung
The Word is life