The Poet

On an island he wanders with thoughts tucked under his arm
Nothing but the wide waving grassy sandy beaches
To hear his elegy of words as he writes upon parachment paper.
He alone lost in contemplating the new sonnet
Enabled only by the distance love back in mainland
If only she hadn’t left him out in the cold
Surely he could find a way to win back her love.
Letters he poured into her mailbox before he left.
Along he walks upon the beach searching for words
None come to light as he is lost in his own
Delusional world of scatter endless thoughts.

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