Hello, Poetry, my old friend, Whose words like gentle streams do bend, Around the corners of my mind, In rhythmic whispers, softly twined. You capture dusk with hues so bold, In lines of beauty, tales are told. You cradle dawn in verses bright And tuck the day into the night. With metaphors, your brush paints true— A canvas vast, with every hue. Each stanza leaps—a dancer free— With similes as wide as sea. Hello, Poetry, you weave a spell Of emotions deep, where feelings dwell. You lift the heart with airy wings, And give a voice to silent things. Your couplets pair like hands in prayer, While sonnets march with stately air. In free verse bounds, a spirit raw, Each ode and epic fills with awe. You, Poetry, the soul's own speech, Where endless thoughts and dreams do reach. Assemble worlds in just a phrase And set the quiet heart ablaze. Each line, each verse, each rhyme unfurls A tapestry where meaning swirls. Hello, Poetry, my guiding light, In you, the world seems just right.