When I lay in bed at night,  I think of all the poems to write.

So many things swim around in my head,

And I know I’ll forget

I love poetry it is part of my life,

A thought,  a smile that is so bright.

Poems are what I think of at night,

I cannot sleep, I wonder why.

I lay there and think of so many things to write.

When it will stop I never know, someday when I grow old.

I no my poems will never die, or all my heart and soul that was put into words of my poems.

For that was all I ever had,  was to write my dreams good or bad…

C. Burgess (c)