Poet’s Paradise

Have you ever been

Where the rhyming tree grows?

Where the brook really babbles

And the whispering wind blows?

Come in to the Poet’s Paradise

And have a look around

Pick some sentence fragments

Sprouting out of the ground

Let Symbolism land on your hand

And feel her tiny heartbeat

A slow, steady, solemn pulse

From one so little, fragile, petite

Listen as the wild wind whispers

Words into your ear

If you can stand very still

Amazing things you’ll hear

Kneel beside the silvery stream

A mix of water and ink

Trace your name into the surface

And dare to take a drink

The fish are made of magic

They murmur mesmerizing thoughts

Run your fingers along the rhyming tree

 – You’ll find Alliteration in the knots

Sit in the colorful shade

Beneath the golden rhyming leaves

Reach out a hand and catch a few

And stash them up your sleeves

Come and stitch a story

With the idea flurries coming down

Break some pencils off the trees for needles

– There’s plenty growing around

Climb the broad branches

Of the giant rhyming tree

And if you’d like a pillow

Use some golden rhyming leaves

Lay down among the branches

Watch the sun set in the sky

Listen to the low hoot of the Metaphor

And slowly shut your eyes

Hear the leaves rustle in the darkness

The scurrying sound of the Similes

Listen to Hyperbole’s howl

As you are gently lulled to sleep

Tendrils of Imagery hang down from above

And cling to your ink-stained fingers

They wrap around your thoughts

Where traces of rhyme still linger

Everything is quiet and still

But only for tonight

In the morning, the bending boughs beckon

Come into the Poet’s Paradise


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