i muse about writing on a leaf: or papercartons or cardboardboxes

the soul writer
reflecting from wells of deep
or shallow miry waters
wades she,
in glee
prose upon prose
a little flower girl
trails behind the beautiful gown of white
upon lilies and soft gushes of

"oh aint she pretty"

repeat the rhapsody.
verses rehearsed in nontheless rows upon rows
of shelves storing reads
in the books or a vast and huge magazine rack.
she scowls she prances
she wades in her thoughts.
a preacher man
needs she?
or a hand to neatly summon her words
and guide her to her oaks' leaf