(I once heard her say: “…some people don’t speak poetry…”)

Echoes of a Poet’s Voice

A message in a bottle all
the fish can hear. It bobs, it floats,
it drifts…Its message is not clear.
So I will listen to the fish
each time they whisper here. I know
that they can see its words, I know
its message clear…

No feet have they
to trample words, no muddy hands
in tow. For fish glide graceful and
they hear that voice from depths below.

Photo by vuorikari, CrCommons-Attribution-Share Alike