From time at the memories begining
the words had brought the urge to scratch them down.
Putting pointed quill to parchment at times
but save them, not share them, private release.
Then a need overwhelming forces out
so one becomes publc, hidden no more.
From suggestion to association
now the real test is not reel back in.
words upon words are written and opened
thus feelings lain bare are public topic.

Now he has savored this august body
of penmen and laurets so distinguished.
there's the sage of woe in swamps to the south
the priestess sublime on the eastern coast.
The court jester in the moveable house
and the norsemen's kin with wit that's sharp.
there's a romantic near the lake's shoreline
or the defender of furred ones so grand.
The scribe of the cinematic pictures
just on and on so many fine writers.

Now of everyone read and still reading
comes the muse so dear to my heart and soul.
tis she of green eyes and soft dark tresses
who enflames my heart and softens my words.
She inspires every expression of love
that i scribble apprenticefully.
Would that i can learn from all those here
and someday do her love fuller fanfare.
Until that day i doff a tatered hat
in awe of your talents i so respect.