Through the eyes of a Poet,
Everything has it place,
Like a ripple on a pond so still,
To the lines on an aged face.
Like a flower standing straight and tall,
Or swaying, caressed by a summers breeze,
The stamen giving their seeds of hope,
To the bodies of visiting bees.
Like a soft trip skyward,
Of a fairy dandelion ball,
Its flight a last look at freedom,
For it will take root where it falls.
These are the little things,
That captures this Poets eye,
From the wings of an albatross,
To that of a mere tiny fly.
Each thing has its purpose in life,
Each has its own special grace,
Like the words you read in front of you,
In your memory , you will now place.
So look down in front of you,
See past what you actually see,
The wheres, the whys and the how comes,
Tell the story of why we are we.
Arohanui..