As I stare into empty space
Searching for words
Just out of reach
I have to wonder
Why they hide from me
And what to me this will teach
Perhaps their meaning
More important than I think
Hence, increasing my appreciation
And so for however long it takes
Like a broth my poetry will simmer
Until it reaches completion
Sometimes a poem must wait
For weeks, months or years
Aging like a fine wine
To all poetry I will be true
I’ll serve up no poem
Before its rightful time
Copyright © Accidental Poet 2014