Poetry spoke

Poetry spoke

the language of the long dead.

Its curious spelling and strange vocabulary

foreign on my tongue.


It called to me,

through intervening years,

a plea from those who penned the lines I read,

that they be understood and so live on

in books that many hands have held

some with care, some without.


The language,

developed and moved on,

a living thing,

adapted in spoken and written form,

so that it may convey, the messages of our time,

to include or exclude.


I hope

generations yet to be

will listen to the words

of long forgotten use

and hear the call

of poetry.





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