Your Poems Are Redolent Of Spring

Your poems are redolent of spring. In them I hear the chirping of a warbler. Transforming all in words, thus they reveal behind the sounds meaning of a wonder. In the beginning was the Word, and height Is shown in vocabulary, deity. And happiness of life, oddly enough, - Is just with endless dictionary labour. From Dickens, his vocabulary's might Effect is great for soothing and abetting. Transparent feelings sacredly to light From blight by words at once are manifested. No need for all hysterically cramps, The torment of unspoken dummy feelings Lays in verse coffin by a verbal pulse And with a new pulse rises very clearly. Vocabulary is like opium, Eternal race for the distinctive meaning - Where all is found. And your favorite loss Will find itself in the words: "We are living! " Mordacity, nit-picking, nagging, shots, Revival from vocabulary changes - Will batten down all the holes in thoughts will make you for this happy and contented! When all around is frowzy and stale, rapacity besieges every moment To solve the riddle Dickens briskly came - Compared to "love" -vocabulary's broader. And tired nervousness shambles away, forever wanes into the poems' coffin, And lightness comes up quickly in new words, Light as a child from a dot is reborning.