Storm’s Comin’, Poet-Love

I feel it, and hear

Psithurism* in my head

Mind’s green willow trees

Gentle sweeping rustle…leaves

Are falling poetry words

~

They make rich carpet

Where heart’s feet may walk a path

Hands collect phrases

Which breeze swirled this way n’ that

For mystery story weaving

~

Basket of lyrics

Sorrowful, joyous psalms too

Muse clings to branches

Lest romance be blown adrift

Calls, “storm’s comin’, Poet-Love”

*Psithurism (noun): sound of wind in trees and rustling of leaves

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2021/02/02/psithurism/

©Avia Morrow, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.