My Poetry Bows To Yours

Inside her pen, resides an ocean of thoughts, vast and teeming with creativity Enchanting currents leading to various depths, eddies detaching themselves as thoughts are conceived, then properly placed in mother of pearl stanzas, never coming up for air Where to they go? She collects them in the quiver of her soul I'm told that behind the waterfalls of her heart fairies build their humble nests Is it true they sleep on angels wings, with pillows stuffed with holy down? Tides reach for the moon in the dead of night as trees reach for the sun to partake of its light Oceans under oceans under layered elegance, she directs currents to weave a tapestry of perfection, as you have all taken note, they take us to that happy place, only found in the highest ranks of poetry And we find peace and rest Her pen? It is a child of trust, instilled instinct coupled with free will To what end? Do you not know by now? To give, again and again And for that, my poetry bows before you