To weave a tale in verse, I crave a theme, A hint of light, a whispered dream. A touch of sorrow, joy's refrain, Tell me, friend, what stirs your brain?
Do whispers dance on autumn leaves, Or starlight paint on moonlit eaves? Does courage climb a mountain's crest, Or longing sigh in ocean's breast?
Unfurl the threads that fill your heart, And watch them bloom in lines of art. With every word, a world takes flight, And shadows yield to day's first light.
So speak, dear friend, and let me see, The poem waiting, born of thee. With eager pen and open mind, I'll paint a verse you'll surely find.
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