Sometimes words just gush and flow,
like bright blossoms from fruit trees
pooling in fragrant, untidy puddles
making way for tender new leaves.
Hark! to the bubbling and rippling sounds
of clear fresh water from the mountains,
gathering at edge of the singing stream,
to dry on the stones and be blown away.
Hark! as the breeze with soft warm caress
–seems as a maiden in gossamer dress
anxiously waiting in eager anticipation
to meet her true love at his returning.
Fleeting and ephemeral as the nature of spirits,
words weave in and out of the consciousness
searching for rhymes in which they may light
as if they were song birds pausing in flight.