Learn more about other poetry terms

February Waltz   A lone Maple leaf Hung to the tree   all Winter through snow, rain and wind. Then one morning She let go and floated Slowly as she could Across the houses
Why taunt such things as sweet as Death? When one could waltz right in? Why flirt with the edge of infinity When you can dive in, head first?
            Slowly, we dance our waltz, One two three, one two three, on and on, But I’m on two when you’re on one, And I know how this dance ends,             Slowly, the music builds,
Poetry is a wild creature. Like a bird in flight or a beast on the prowl. It does not answer for its words. Nor does it answer the questions that we pose it. Poetry simply becomes.
Absorbed in the delicate three beat rhythm While lost in her eloquent dance, She gracefully whirled from one spot to the next Never planning her steps in advance.
Subscribe to waltz