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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Under The April Rain With passion, swirling under the April rain,
Its impulse dressed in a pastel brocade,
The earth’s awakening to entertain.
Aroused drops tango on the window pane,
To trees, tuneful gusts soar to serenade
With passion, swirling under the April rain.
Unveiling the hidden in even refrain,
So tints of pinks, greens, yellows can parade
With passion, swirling under the April rain.
Branches bend side to side; the stems restrain
Emerald-leaf emotions, custom-made
With passion, swirling under the April rain.
The sordid dirt, sage messages ordain,
For intricate rhythms to promenade
With passion, swirling under the April rain.
All has a purpose, nothing is in vain,
Spring favors a miracle’s cascade,
When blossoms go, aromas remain
With passion, swirling under the April rain.
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© Copyright 2003 Joy (joycag at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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