What is a poem? Is it something to hear?
Is it something to laugh at, something to fear?
Can it have angry thoughts, or even sad?
Can it have scary thoughts, and even glad?
What is a poem? Is it something to eat?
Something that talks? Something with feet?
Does it describe the happiest things?
Fun-filled weeks? Or an Angel with wings?
Does it take you off and fly you some place –
Where you never want to leave its side again?
Can it take you off on a far away land –
Where pirates live upon the sand?
Can it take you off to a sky with such clouds?
Where you sit and rest without any crowds?
Can it take you on a journey so far –
Where there is no need for a boat, plane, train or car?
Can it take me on a flight to some place –
When I can just take a look at your beautiful face?
This is a poem of magic, full with sweet smell
Anywhere you wish, anywhere you tell
A poems magic, full of sweet sound
This is where I want to be found:
Inside the cloak, or coat of wings
Beside the full wonderful of pure things
Beneath the pale sky, above the green field
A poems magic is where I am
I take up its wand and wave it to heal
A poems magic touch is what I wield.