words seep from me

like blood from a

careless wound,

a life forceI I can little

afford to lose, which at

times becomes a

relentless flow,

I try in vain to stem

such unwanted loss,

and refuse the words,

push them back

starving them of air,

some submit easily

thin unworthy ones

that untended, suffuse

the page, angular

warped, ugly,

so I wait for the

beautiful words that

rise through my pores,

bask there, awaiting

harvest into fine rows

where they proudly wave

and sing out.

© Graham R Sherwood 7/25