A poem is never just a poem.
It’s a peek into the soul.
It’s a gift of something that you own.
It’s a sharing to unroll.
And when you sit down to begin,
A transformation’s born,
And somehow words and feelings spring
And even rhythms form.
Sometimes it’s heavy stuff that’s there,
And other times it’s light,
But every time, it goes somewhere
And gets out something right.
I’ve written about wilderness
And hunting buddies, too,
And always with a gratefulness
for the friendships that we grew.
I’ve written about lakes and streams
And the beauties that they hold
And even of those pre-hunt dreams
That in the night unfold,
But most of all I’ve written
Just to let my heart run free
And to let my loves and passions sing
A little song for thee.
Constance Bay, ON