POETRY Poem by Hubert van Herreweghen

Poetry comes from on high,
with the rain and the sun,
from the planets, the moon when it's out,

poetry comes from the ground,
with the snails and the flowers,
(which we know too little about),

poetry comes from that eye
from where love songs have begun
a mouth's tremble with no sound,

amazement at simple things,
what's there and ready and sound,
simplest of all is what beauty brings.

It humbles the word's naming powers:
they don't touch it, just circle around.