A light shining bright 

Surrounded by shades of night,

A candle battles against the wind,

Flickering, but never out and warm within

Poetry is the voice of the silent,

The last and first hope of the dissident.

Poetry is the spring's meoldy,

The peace and prayerful harmony.

I am a wayward pilgrim

Lost and hope grows dim.

I am a warrior lost at sea,

Praying for the comfort of family.

I am small, but brave nonetheless.

Knowing not what lies ahead; so, begins the quest.

Poetry a guiding light

Ever in and out of sight,

From Xanadu to Inverness,

Tis safety in the wilderness.