About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write. Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
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Nov 30, 2005 at 3:09pm
#1176343
Prompt 1 Revision

Cloudy are the skies,
In its blues and grays.
Cloudy are the skies,
On a warm summer day.

Cloudy are the skies,
In midwinter’s morn.
Cloudy are the skies,
At the sound of the horn.

Cloudy are the skies,
In spring’s gentle breeze.
Cloudy are the skies,
As I cough and sneeze.

Cloudy are the skies,
On a crisp fall day.
Cloudy are the skies,
As the leaves come my way.
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Prompt 1 Revision
· 11-30-05 3:09pm
by angel2blue Author IconMail Icon

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