This Poem Wrote Itself

This poem wrote itself
I didn’t intend to
The fingers grabbed a quill
Dipped in ink of blue
The page was promptly filled
With thoughts in my head
The words they kept a-flowing
Though they were unsaid
Then the page was wrapped
Inside an envelope
And mailed it your address
With a lot of hope
I know this poem means nothing
But what am I to do?
It’s just a way of saying
I am thinking of you

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67 thoughts on “This Poem Wrote Itself

  1. Spontaneous creative output. For me, it’s scary to just let a thing go, just having made it. I have to really try to believe in the smallness of the thing. What helps you?

    Liked by 1 person

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