In the realm of ink and parchment fair,
Where thoughts take flight on wings of air,
A poet sits with pen in hand,
Crafting verses, a masterpiece planned.
To write a poem, an art refined,
A dance of words, the poet's mind,
Selecting gems from language vast,
To weave a tapestry, a spell to cast.
In the garden of lexicon, the poet roams,
Where petals of words in abundance loam,
Each chosen with care, a delicate bloom,
For a poem to blossom, and hearts to groom.
The quill glides, an elegant waltz,
Across the canvas of white, a poet's vault,
Words are chosen, like stars in the night,
To paint a portrait, a celestial light.
Metaphors blossom, similes entwine,
A symphony of language, an art divine,
Syntax and rhythm, partners in rhyme,
Creating a dance, a poetic chime.
In the alchemy of verses, emotions blend,
Stanzas unfold, like tales to send,
The poet's heart spills onto the page,
A symphony of emotions, a literary stage.
With each line, a heartbeat echoes,
As the poet crafts, the universe bestows,
A melody of thoughts, harmonies spun,
In the crucible of creation, a poem is done.
Then words find a home, a place to rest,
In the reader's soul, they manifest,
A gift from the poet's quill,
A tapestry of emotions, a journey still.
So, in the silence where poets dwell,
In the magic of words, a story to tell,
With ink-stained hands and a heart so free,
A poem is born, a timeless decree.
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