By Wesley Hague

I seek to honour those before

Whose words and art I do adore.

With words so strung, tied and laced

All my words seem so misplaced

A simple phrase, rhythm or rhyme

Do or will they last in time?

Or will my work, fade as most?

As sunlight drains from off the coast.

To work with words, this precious art

I can only do my part.

As we know, they can harm or heal

Words, can alter, just how we feel.

As with this is art it is so true

I write about, what I feel, see, and do.

For one to smile, think or laugh

I have succeed in this chosen path.

It does not matter if these works will last

As all things will fade to past.