Beautiful Spectres

After a restless night she got up bleary-eyed
sad for the minutes that would take her hours
to read and relay and edit and heartily detest
but then she found a surprise gift in the mail
sent by her new poet friend, a true leader and
dreamer - a very special verse

She read it with shiny eyes, dreaming of people
with hearts of gold holding visions and dreams
untold, swirling within the misty air, she gloried
in a new life with many poet friends and said -
thank you friend, thank you so much, I love
this gift - and your excellent poetic touch

Some of us would prefer writing poems till we
drop dead on our desk, I would like to sing songs
while making a mess of the boring official text
I have to relate in the language of the intended
recipient - it is difficult not to wish them dead
or under an evil wizard's curséd spell, when I
read words that have no meaning, no feeling

No interesting content, nothing I can relate to
but as you said, we have to earn our daily bread
and bosses must poke, send threatening notes
though we cry in the night for visions of poems
visiting us like beautiful spectres during the day
we must keep our feet on the ground and churn
the grindstone, turning the mill of time

Trusting one day we shall be free to indulge this
strange wish and desire for words that sing...