Pen in hand, she looks around wondering if she can accomplish it . . . with her books and paper at the ready she stares at the blank page and wonders out loud without words . . .
So at last her mind all ablaze with streaming words she sets her hand to the task let it flow, let it flow, her muse whispers in her ear let your feelings go . . .
Suddenly, the descriptive words come to mind, disjointed at first, then rushing forth like a waterfall all her thoughts and feelings tumble out easing her heart, mind and soul . . .
From where did thou’st cometh, oh panting words? Where did you hide in my soul? For I thought you were buried there eons ago never to rise again . . .
Now you are resurrected and so you play the poet, painting words as you go . . . I am painting words as I go . . .
