We dilettante misfits, 

we wake up to kiss the blank pages with our pens, 

minds and fingertips,

minds and fingertips hoping for a sunny day to inspire,

and we hope pull things from the air,

and hope to reorganise them,

and let them play out as best we can, 

and as the words flow sweetly like honey drips, 

our words appear from who knows where, 

words given out maybe by the Gods in the heavens high up there, 

and how great it is to write and to share, 

and how great it is to create such beautifully ethereal,

and poetic,

and bombastic and dramatic lines and then read them out,

and let the sound float from our mouths into ours and others ears, 

and to be appreciated,

and over which cogitated and hopefully leaving others satiated,

and yet wanting more,

because how beautiful words can sound,

how beautiful they can sound with so much rhyming and rhythm, 

and silky but warm like the sun,

and giving when we read,

giving all, all we can to the intonation,

and our elocution,

our craft honed in time and with dedication,

a no stress no mess beautiful life in words,

words to inspire and to feed the imagination,

words with such power to leave the poem memorised in the mind,

and warm smiles everywhere,

we dilettante misfits pulling words from an invisible ocean,

how we work hard crafting them with dedication and devotion,

and how we work hard filling out the pages,

the pages with such lyrical motion,

and such beautiful words created from all the letters of the alphabet,

some simple,

some extremely complex,

great words,

well-chosen words,

words to be shared upon all subjects and devoured,

words that leave us with smiles on our faces and others in great happiness and our words hopefully gratefully appreciated everywhere.

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