POETRY

POETRY

Words fall in place, stitched into lines,

Lines lined so right in stanzas’ might,

Stanzas blend so well to give a tune;

Thus a poem makes its birth.

The sun that sets at the wake of dusk

Dies a mortal in poetry’s words,

The garden so dense and lushly bright

Turns a maiden in her prime;

Such is poetry, full of mysteries

A wealth its holder dearly flaunts

It lures the ears and stings the mind

And none dares says he owns it all.

Copyright ©2020 Nasrudeen Olajire