the poet said to herself
for my pen is full of ink but my page is blank.
I listen softly to the wind outside my country house.
The red-orange flame is like the lonely artist,
who draws swirls of orange and red.
As the artist says “ How Serendipitous” that I’m alone.
If there were people near me
I wouldn’t have my artistic touch.
This page was last updated on November 28, 2002 by the KIWW Webmaster.