See, you aren’t playing fair,
I see the glare, I hear the whispers,
But I don’t care.
Hiding behind the door,
Using my name to sweep the floor.
Knock, knock, time to open the door!
Now don’t run away; you had so much to say.
Such a nasty little game,
Trying to cause pain, what a shame!
Popping champagne?
Like a landslide, it’ll all crumble down.
No, I don’t feel like a fight,
you’ll get what’s right.
The poet wanders under open skies, drawing words from nature’s rhythms, finding poetry in every breeze and quiet moment.