Given to fly in a lyrical delight,
Words, on rafts of their own
Rush forth, as often they’re prone
From my fingers, dancing in flight
On plastic keys by their own might.
Never brighter has the sun shone
When I wax lyrical to the barest bone
And I sing happy or in deepest plight.
My gift, a delight – I am kindred with bards
And songwriters modern, gentle men
Or women who play their poetic cards.
Able is my collective of ten
To dance for common honky-tonk bars,
Or cathedrals. To sing, I yen.

Written Sometime in 2004

© 2004 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.