My poetry has rescued me
in many different ways.
When overcome by words from some,
it left me in a haze.

I could not cry and would not try
to satisfy their spite,
but now I know the way to go
is sit right down and write.

Those seeds of doubt I'll empty out,
and put them into verse.
My poetry will set me free
from every wretched curse.

There have been times my starkest rhymes
have saved me from myself.
A word a day, as some might say,
is so good for your health.

When my mum died, I cried and cried;
she was my dearest friend.
But thankfully, my poetry
said life will never end.

I talked with God with pen well-trod
and asked Him in my rhyme--
to care for mum, Him and His Son,
until it was my time.

Then there are times I'll set to rhyme,
bright sunshine days, and more--
The oceans blue, of flowers too,
when love knocks on my door.

For baby's smile, I'll walk a mile
and write it down to share--
her shapely lips of rose bud tips,
and sunlight in her hair.

The mystery of poetry,
will always hold me fast.
With pen in hand, I'll write as planned,
'til my last breath has passed.


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