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The Writers Page: Past-Due Poem

Past-Due Poem
By Cinthia

You ask me,
"Where's the poem?"
as if you cannot see
the poem is all around
high up in the tree
that grows outside this classroom
and rises to the sky
where ending lines float softly
blown gently by your sigh. You ask me,
'Where's the poem?"
as if it cannot be
that words exist in air
waiting just for me
to catch them like they're butterflies
in color as they fly
an put the contents of the net
in lines that rhyme, "Oh, why?"