A Lonely Poet's Pen

Just a tree
 I write these words with no clear aim,

No destination for this train.

For whom I write, I cannot say,

No guiding light to lead the way.


Perhaps a stranger passing by,

Will catch a glimpse and wonder why,

These lines were penned and left to find,

A reader with an open mind.


Or maybe someone close to heart,

Will stumble upon this work of art,

And recognize the hidden voice,

That speaks to them without a choice.


But even if no eyes should see,

These words that flowed so effortlessly,

I'll still keep writing, line by line,

For the love of words and the joy they bring.

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