Periwinkle skies, we've met again;
over my poetry-filled ancient garden,
engulfing your rain, precipitate me with gay
to make Sonnets grow on my lovely decay;
resting beside where a Haiku blossoms,
you make the purest Sestina hums.
Gorgeous cities, I have walked on,
ancient forests, metamorphosis, undergone;
rivers meeting the sea, mountains mating,
deep in my garden, I've read them all;
every imagery and verse I am writing,
never once they will leave my soul.
A lovely poem that very beautifully brings out the beauty of the different forms and languages in poetry. Truly, this is the magic of poetry that does to us – it can never leave our soul – just like your very own work which shall be treasured throughout. It is as beautiful as anything I've ever read. Beautifully done.