I hear the ringing of Christmas bells
We once sang a sweet song
A tree might just seem like a bit of wood.
Hurry up and make a wish, the night is full of stars.
I love writing as much as the next scribe.
There is something about it that gives you a great vibe.
If I didn't have my pen, I couldn't create my art.
Unless I used the ink provided by my heart.
Because it is a poets best friend, this faithful pen.
Words are my weapon and I can nuke your mind.
There are no hidden agendas for you to find.
I hold a small tube filled with dreams.
It's up to me if you laugh or scream.
Because it's a poets best friend, this tool of men.
I'll write, scribble and jot it on the page.
Perhaps the words of a child or maybe one of a sage.
However I do it, I do it with care.
As long as I have my best friend there.
There's a man sat upon a counter, staring into space.
Peace be still, strike thy pose