WHERE DO POETS LIVE
In the smell of a rose
In the sound of the rain
In the wetness of tears
In sadness and in pain
In blue skies on sunny days
In memories of those gone away
In smiling faces that we all show
In music we feel down to our toes

WHERE DO POETS HIDE
In the words we choose
In songs black and blue
In uninterrupted solitude
In magical thoughts, in attitudes
In the vastness of our own reality
In contemplation of our mortality
In expressions of our personal belief
We hide our truths inside our hearts
We hide our hearts inside our truths