In My Heart I Am a Poet

As promised last week, here is one of the poems from my little purple notebook.

In my heart, I am a poet.

But the words won’t come

       when bidden.

They come in the night when the world is asleep

         when my mind is empty

and quiet as the room.

Warm cat purring,

down comforter comforting,

a blanket of sleep squeezing tight.

Awake, the words fail to delight.

No longer profound.

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