A Whisper yet Unheard

A poem is like an early rose

Before the bloom has come,

Or the crawling caterpillar

That the butterfly is from.

A poem is like new sherry

Before ageing makes it sweet,

Or the passion of two lovers

Yet to meet.

When a poet writes a poem

He creates it word by word,

But until its read by one who cares

It’s but a whisper yet unheard.

And though a poem can live forever,

A book may be its tomb,

For though the poet plants the seed,

Only you can make it bloom.

SC