At the Poetry Class

I read their poems at dawn
In the still quiet hours, alone
To savor the meter and the rhyme
Of their poetry stored in time.

A myriad thoughts and styles
Their pens bring tears and smiles
A kaleidoscope wrought in words
From the passion that writing accords.

For poetry is like the best wine
That you have as you leisurely dine
Each little sip is one you enjoy
Each line is one that brings you joy.