A light shining bright
Surrounded by shades of night,
A candle battles against the wind,
Flickering, but never out and warm within
Poetry is the voice of the silent,
The last and first hope of the dissident.
Poetry is the spring's meoldy,
The peace and prayerful harmony.
I am a wayward pilgrim
Lost and hope grows dim.
I am a warrior lost at sea,
Praying for the comfort of family.
I am small, but brave nonetheless.
Knowing not what lies ahead; so, begins the quest.
Poetry a guiding light
Ever in and out of sight,
From Xanadu to Inverness,
Tis safety in the wilderness.