The Treasured Time To Rhyme...

He trained his mind to recognise The first line of a verse, So syllables were seen as nice, His talents to rehearse, To scan the lines and seek to rhyme, Whatever came his way, Investing just a little time In hopes to make his day… And then it's on, he's in the zone, To focus on the page, The world departs, he sits alone, Now comes the writing stage… And all at once, the rhymes jump out, No other eyes can see, He writes by faith destroying doubt, Then strives for what must be… The verses melt, from pen to pour, To flow like wondrous wine, His eyes their witness, lost in awe, As if each seemed God's sign… Thus, by the thousand, verses came, Like starlings swirling near, That's why he'll never be the same, With truths made crystal clear… The love of God, the love of Man, The love for girls he knew, Helped him to learn God had a plan And helped him see it through… He'll leave behind a legacy, That few on Earth could beat, The precious gift of poetry, A treasure trove complete… Denis Martindale March 2017.