Restoration

When all my poems have oxidized, and their faces have faded as time slips by The sun beats down upon my back It seems they have finally died No one gathers to them, as I recall their accomplishments in prayer The willow is weeping at my words, Even though they are very old, they are surprisingly self aware My roots are stretching to their lot, Their perception is extremely deep Why do you bury the ones you love It is you they wish to keep Retrieve them quick, before it rains They must be read to revive the dead Restore them carefully with your tears then bind them in a book with thread Some poems are penned for glory Others penned for a prize Those whom touches another's heart, will endure the test of time I pray my words have touched others, by reading you are touching me in return At the alter of the warmth of poetic bliss, forever and ever our words shall burn Let them burn