Poetry is a passing smile.

The waft of your hair,

The touch of your hand.

Poetry is the whisper of the breeze

On a warm summer’s day.

 

Poetry is an act of kindness,

From an unexpected source.

A friendly greeting in the street,

From strangers whom we chance to meet..

Encouraging words on a greeting card.

Picking you up, when times are hard.

 

I overthink my poetry.

 

Life is simple.

Twenty-two thousand days.

And, to coin a phrase,

Its message is sublime,

Be kind to one another,

Whilst there is still time.