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)