David Wood (07 April 1950 / London)
Do words come like a rider less horse
Galloping across green fields, jumping
And running free, kicking the air with
Its hind legs with hoofs kicking up turf.
Do words come like a sail-boat riding the
Waves with a southerly wind blowing
And sea spray from bow waves breaking
In the wind, hitting your face.
Do words come like riding a fast motorbike
Through winding twisty country lanes
In the early morning calm as the sun
Grows large on the horizon.
Or do words come in like a gentle breeze
Kissing your face on a warm summers day,
Words that grace the page with lines
Of thoughts that slowly turn into poems.
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