I think with my heart....

Lilies and roses and flowers of blue,
Spring just like a firefly
With lanterns so true

Encased in a heart as they always will be,
To all of our poets
Who seek to be free

Happy Easter

A grizzled old man all alone in the wood.

Made his way in the world, best as he could.

Life had beaten him down, but taught him to see

The beauty in things, like the rocks and the trees.

One day in his journeys he chanced on a dove.

She was quietly mourning for her fallen love.

She had broken a wing and a wounded heart

But she took to him, feathered friend from the start.

Together they sang and whiled away the days

As her wing grew strong in the bright summer rays.

When autumn came on and the shadows drew long

They both knew the time was done for their song.

And as the day drew nigh for him to set her free

He said his goodbyes, silent tears she’d not see.

The dove floated away from glen where he stood

a grizzled old man all alone in the wood.

One of your best Rockymoose. It reminds me of Golden Birds with Broken Wings.

Especially like the line "..he chanced on a dove. She was quietly mourning for her fallen love..."

Yes, we quietly mourn,
It's the way it should be.

Don't extend sorrow,
It blinds us to see
The beauty that lies
On the earth, in the sea.

Nice poem, Letty. Came to it later than the others, but enjoyed it very much. Reminds me of the movie Finding Forester, starring Sean Connery, who plays the part of a wiritng teacher. One of his students is sitting at a typewriter but complaining that he doesn't know what to write. Connery says "Just start typing." The student says "How can I write anything when I don't know have anything in my head to write?" Connery turns away from the student, looks out the window of the classroom, and says very softly, "Write from your heart. Rewrite from your head."

A similar quote is from Flannery O'Connor, who said, " I don't know what I think until I see what I say." But I've always seen it as "I don't know what's in my heart until I see it on the paper." The heart/head thing is what I consider to be the cause of writer's block. It's very difficult for me if nobody else to create (play) and edit (work) at the same time. Usually causes writers block. Writing from the heart is play. Writing from the head is work. Pretty hard to work and play at the same time.

Thanks for posting your poem. I'll look for one along the same theme and post it later this week.

--Bill

I love your wild flower poem, too, qwertyportne. In Virginia they were everywhere: daisies, lady slippers, trillium, daffodils, violets both white and blue.

When I was a wee thing, I picked some clover and arranged it,
so that it would show its green

Gave it to my mom, but changed it
So that it would bloom unseen.

I called it a bovine bouquet
It's in my heart and mind today.