With A Cool Glass Of Wine

Poetry fell down
from an apple tree
as I was yawning
quietly some words,
suddenly I hit hard reality
with the flapping wings
of flighty-versed birds.

Verse so fine
fluttered across
the curved sky
perhaps I could go crazy -
make some rhyme
and so were born
these insane words I cry
that float and sink
in the pool of all-time.

Young was I
in the bright eye
of the world,
full of passions
and golden dreams so free,
nouns, verbs and adjectives
slowly unfurled,
the beauty of letters strung
I would see.
With a cool glass
of wine I do decree,
here's my poetical biography.