Sorry, had a glitch with blog.co.uk, and have to re-post this.
I felt like writing something, so I just now wrote this rubbish poem:
One morning a robin sang in the verdant emerald meadow,
And I stood enmeshed in rapture, and listened with my soul's soul,
as the song ensnared my heart with it's ringing joyful tapestry.
The song was like a lace shawl draped over a grand piano,
Notes rich and full of love and laughter and light, light shot home with stars,
and I heard the stars singing in the robin's voice, and I laughed with joy.
