Perhaps my words were meant
only and just for you...
For if someone else read them
No matter, just a few words...
Forgotten after just one read
Perhaps a bit of erotica to savor
How and when do words creep in
And make a poem, a letter?
Do we have someone in mind?
Or do we write to please
Anyone or everyone who passes by
To take the poem or leave...
For I find I respond to you
Your words speak so sincere
I see someone who opens up
And speaks of what has come
Isn't that such a compliment?
To touch someone so deep
I'm glad if no one else did come
It formed a bond, you see.
And now we read each other
We enjoy a melding mind
Others may read our words, true
Some one else may also find
When two can think and act together
'Tisn't such a crime
For words make life a lovely place
To share with thee...or others...


Sheila
Regis
Arranged the way I it aught to be
To tell a tale or present some facts
The words are guided by my acts
To share a time of days gone by
We feel that age and maybe cry
Unable to return and change things then
Accepting all that has been
The past can make our hearts react
But all words written should be exact
To please myself is what I do
Wishing it is the same for you
To reveal the past is inspiring
Where I do my reveling
I share with all my heartfelt words
So those gone by can still be heard
to have one particular reader in mind when I write. Either way I
have to satisfy me first, which is true of course for any writer.
Thanks, Glenda, for getting me to think about this. -gene.