Little things spark in the mind of a poet
Some are simplistic and thence grow fit
To be tied together into cohesive thought
And the germ of an idea then becomes taut
Overflowing with branches leading from trunk
As words find their own meanings with spunk
All coming together with defined directions
Stemming from a singular piece of diction
Whether 'tis a knack or a talent or practice
Is something not quite fathomed at this piece
But it is clear all of these parts play a role
For without any single one there'd be no pole
Along which the mind and body creeps gently
As heart beats and fingers then drum intently
Upon the tools which utilize all this feeling
And creation blends with vision now peeling
- Tristram
(c) Christopher W. Thomas
5:57pm Thurs. March 26th, 1998