My thoughts are simplistic
And easily defined.
I grab them when fresh
And on them I dine.
Through the cob webs I peak,
As some are of vintage years.
Yet they remain in a longing state;
Eagerly waiting for me to release.
I, but the weaver of words,
Eager not to hold them at bay.
Let the spark that ignites them,
Bring the light to each new day.
Regis
Peace be with you
William