Weave The First Poem

 

Weave The First Poem

I sat down with pen in my hand

In a world of blooms and grand  skies,  

With flowers, with my heart fluttering on the clouds  

When the pen just started to weave a poem,

 I'm lost when it comes to words.

Oh, the struggle of mine, only imagination,  

The beauty of nature, the whisper of trees,  

Yet when it comes to please you, my Senorita,

To gift you my first poem,

I am trapped in a curse of dense dark clouds.