a child called poetry

after reading one night
she grabbed me as I passed
told me she had felt my words
inside of her, in her womb
she sheltered the words
fed them her supper
watched them grow for months
calmed them to sleep in the dark
held them tight to her bosom
kicking to be brought to light
I returned to read...
only to find she was not there
my seed was planted in her
to grow, with nourishment
with sun
and rain
falling days
words giving birth to a child
a child called poetry