One poem, two charm, three sound the alarm, the beginning of a poetic storm,
whether sitting in the city or on a farm.
Real poets just write on paper or on a poetic site
anytime of the day or come the dark of night
the sparrow a small bird like the eagles takes flight
It makes no difference the size of flying wings
flight is flight among flying take to the air things
In the brain of the poet verse has a stage
the prisoner in jail wants out builds up rage
for the poet there is no freedom until he finds page
In search of blank page to express and write
like the sparrow and eagle with wings for flight
the poet has got to find a blank page to write
Some poets will write a whole book and disperse
for a magician magic tricks are a part of his curse
same goes for the poet who expresses his verse
Man born of flesh and blood having spiritual souls
most men of pride and achievement have goals
a goal for this and a goal for that whatever were at
The baseball player wants a homer swings the bat
All poets won't see the eagle high even if they look
they maybe limited to the page and not a book
Edwin