Unread

		
There is simply no knowing when a poem will\

tap lightly on your shoulder and offer to take your bag\

(though if wearing a heavy coat you may not feel it)
or utter a sudden mournful cry in your quiet room\

or pose a question in a lively conversation
or spring out from the bushes directly into your path\

(though if admiring the view you may walk right through it)
or waft in on the breeze with a suggestion of honeysuckle\

or the hint of a distant bonfire
or mingle with the salt of your bacon sandwich\

or the hidden sour of homemade lemonade.
Yet you will tell me that poetry with its\

curious metaphors and unbreakable codes\

is only to be found in libraries or on the\

dusty bookshelves of another kind of person.
And I shall say that you are already writing a poem\

of your own, even though you do not know it yet.