Poetry's Rejuvenation

Pallid, empty ears;

Mere stubs,

Squalid years killed,

Rubbed the eyes red,

Dry verse wasted;

Scentless, tainted the nostrils,

Tastebuds wouldn't bloom,

As smooth skin went pasty,

And fossils, soon, the bones became,

And lame the body went,

Now decrepit and made of stone,

The plain form wholly matte,

The mind and soul then did lament,

And behold, a poem formed,

Just gradually;

Sloppily at start,

But when joined the heart,

What was worth being told was thought;

The words within then pumped through stony veins,

And as each part received its blood,

It flesh, once more became.

Spencer has been a Pubber from day one.

Welcome back.