As juices flow from fruit to linen cloth
So has the poet guided written word
His hand the one that trapped an aimless moth
And made her write in ways that can be heard.
A seed he took and planted in her mind
With tender hand he nurtured through her fight
One day he knew her meter, his to find,
A love of rhyme and flow now in his sight.
She did resist, a block to this his way
A frosty glance at meter yelling no
She writes in free, against all that he say
He watched, a guiding word in ear of Crowe
The poet Jeff my mentor, guide and friend
My thanks, I got the meter in the end.
© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.
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