The Poetess

              Stealthily
              the night passes. The
              silvery
              crescent cascading

              over her
              soft fingers
              tiptoe
              on the unmarred

              sheet. There's a
              duel
              of thoughts. Only
              the salient remain

              like heroes
              in a play
              clad
              in translucent beauty,

              patiently waiting
              for the eyes
              to peruse them.
              Cherish them.

              Then she writes:
               A new poem is born
               Blissfulness there is - tonight and in the morn
               for I've seen the working of the Divine . . .

                         in my hand . . .
                             in every line.

Instrumental - Instrumental - Background Music (sad Piano) 2

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