The Poet

Writing a letter.

(For Rosaria Marie, on her birthday)


She’s a master of her skill.

Within her hand, the quill,

Is like an extension of her arm

Bringing joy to her heart

As her masterpiece she starts.

Her soul cannot stay contained.

As her mind is unchained,

Her thoughts seep out,

Writing the night throughout,

The ink expressing all,

As she keenly scrawls.

Her pen tells the tale,

And when her masterpiece is unveiled,

The readers soak up her words

With an insatiable thirst-




What she meant.

She has a connection with the readers

Only writing will create.

And long after she is gone,

Her writing will long live on.

She will be immortal.

For on the parchment, she leaves her soul.

By Rae-Rae