Happy World Poetry Day!

 

"I don't like poetry, " she said, slouched against

the gnarly skin of a grand old oak tree

"Really?" I said

And gifted her some Dickinson, Angelou

and a dark sprinkling of Poe 

"Hmmm." She pondered. 

Below, in the valley, the last drizzles of honey

slowly trickled away from lazy fields

The sunset preferring to brush them with a dusky pink icing,

and make candy floss of passing clouds

"Sometimes," I mused, " poetry can be good enough to eat."

Her young face turned a Mona Lisa smile

"Hmmm," she repeated. "Then perhaps, 

I may take a bite every once in a while…"