IT WASN'T

IT WASN'T

by Jezreel Madsa

it wasn't the pinning of 

the stars upon the 

ebony carpet of the

firmament

made this poet to write

it wasn't the chirps and tweets

the birds that bids 

the daylight break

in silent hum the 

poet wakes

neither the ivory kisses

of the rain 

slid down the slope

a sulky cheek in pain—

bled such ink down his morose pen

nor was the valley low, dear

still less the mountains high

it wasnt natures without—

or nature within —

compels a song a poet sing

it was simply you—

not the hands that kiss

not the lips that touch

not the mouth 

that breathes

nor the heart that hugs

simply you it was.