Deep in the forest of thought,
I find myself thinking aloud.
Words are like leaves of a tree
Though much unlike are they.
A word can paint a picture
In the readers mind.
Sometimes it can be quaint
And misleading, if the poet chooses.
But confusing the reader
Is the last thing a poet
Wishes to do when writing.
Letting him guess the intent is OK.
Love ya!
Jane
Ron