A Requiem For A Poet

The ground laid waste beneath me no flowering fruits lay there, no fertility of imagination, no quest to ride upon. Gone are the flowing shrub of words that coloured the winding path upon which poets tread. Left behind the words dissolve and the metre melts away. Maybe some day in the future this pen will write again, but until that day comes along, this is a requiem for a poet. and so long to all his friends. 19 February 2011 Author’s Note: Before anyone thinks that I am giving up writing or I am in a writer’s block. This is just a poem as I am neither giving up or in a writer’s block.. DVH