Political Science
As I write, I talk, speaking in to my pen, Pouring words like dew-drops, On to a body of paper ice-sheets cold, With only warmth from my hand, A translation for the singing-trees, Filled with sunshine and reaching upwards, Shouting to the sky and up on high colourful-birds; Sweetly singing : A writer's song. A poet's lasting phrase, Ringing 'decibels' in my ears, loudly drumming, Healing a politician's ache and the 'hearty-fakery', Of the crowds flocking amongst themselves, Like swans swimming with clowns, In a wild-blue lake brimming with prospects.