|Released from poet's mental cage,
a raucous flock of eager words
descends upon the waiting page
to capture sound of morning birds,
and, thus, the written narrative
becomes a gift for him to give.
As long as ink keeps flowing down
that swirling stream of consciousness,
his pen will spout verb and noun,
to be arranged with great finesse,
until artistic fury dries
and his Muse becomes paralyzed.