With Precision

As all my words weave themselves together,
Every verse arrives on the scene.
Furnished and burnished to such perfection,
With punctuation in between.

Stories that are really a knock-out,
Lines flowing easily on course,
Could all these writes be worth shouting about,
Appearing from a well known source.

I try with precision to set their shape,
Appeal, in each poem to find.
Poetry that everyone can enjoy,
Things that can so surely spellbind.

These woven pieces are a joy to mould,
And when they’re finally complete.
A warm feeling enters my aging heart,
And so, I find a fresh blank sheet.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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