I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;
Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.
I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall never see.
For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.
I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.
The music of language, intricate rhyme schemes, elegant phrases, vivid images - the art of poetry is enough to inspire many to write it. Poetry is the practice of creating artworks using language. What could be a better way than discovering the music inside yourself than Poetry? Words are the soul of any rythm, any sort of music.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
I Sit And Think!
- JRR Tolkein