I found this on my desk one day. I have no idea whether this was a fifth grader or not, I am sure it was a child. Sadly, they did not sign it. What depth!
What does it see?
What does it look like?
When was it born?
My inner poet is a bird, born and growing stronger and wiser in poetry rising up, soaring and over flowing with ideas. I bring my bird everywhere. In the car and on the plane. I look with hope to see him near when he’s only and just inside me. My inner poet.