Words dance like

wildflowers in the poet's mind.

Sometimes the words

make it to a page,

crying out pain,

singing out joy.

What then are words?

Do birds have their own words

in their wild cheerful chirps?

The words in the mind of the poet

have no precise definition;

they are as varied as the stories of the human experience.

Write on, oh traveling pilgrim!

Let your words fall like rain;

we, the readers, stand under the sun,

refreshed,

because you shared.