No Pattern for a Poem

Poetry is the heart singing,
Poetry is bright words winging heavenward.
Laughter never comes in measured steps,
Nor unpredictable spring rain.
Winds blow as they will, and golden grain
Has never set a pattern for its graceful swaying.
Making poems is as natural as praying.
Poem-thoughts run on little silver feet
Lightly from the heart, across a clean white sheet
Of paper, down the stream, and up a hill,
Around the world, to roam at will.
Let your thoughts stand, unfettered, then;
Be not abashed at any set of ancient rules.
‘Beauty is its own excuse for being’.
Poems are a heart’s upsurging, Poems are born.
Love and laughter, deep compassion, intimacy
With man and God, sky and meadow, trees and sod,
Hills and deep blue pools are a poet’s schools!