Pensive Power

Observe a weaver of beautiful words:

Slight, delicate hands moving ever gently,
Passing on from his heart love aplenty.
Half-closed eyes from a dreamy place,
Gazing in wonder into the open space.

Words come with the thunder of the herd.
Flowing in like a river – the word.
All aligned in mountain peaks of glory,
The true meaning of the full story.

He pours his heart into the one thing he knows.
Nothing is important when the beauty flows.
His every word, his every sound
Comes with a beauty – waiting to be found.