A Poem
Flows like a river of thoughts,
With the pen marking its path.
Meanders gently through the meadows,
Collecting words on its course,
Remoulding those into expressions,
That strike the chords, and feelings evoke.
Rejuvenates by its touch,
Gives life to the otherwise dull;
That's the beauty of a poem,
Enlivens the minds, tired and worn.
With the pen marking its path.
Meanders gently through the meadows,
Collecting words on its course,
Remoulding those into expressions,
That strike the chords, and feelings evoke.
Rejuvenates by its touch,
Gives life to the otherwise dull;
That's the beauty of a poem,
Enlivens the minds, tired and worn.
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