Knit a poem
On the bed of upfront grass,
I make a bed of convenient table
to lay forth my imagination
to knit a sweater of poetry
for my granddaughter sweet,
with the dexterous needle of
vibrant creativity .
Rhyme or no rhyme? the
Question taunts me,
Why waste time? let your poetic pen
decide as it flows; let the predominant
idea be the colourful thread ,
the thread of chubby cheeks,
the ruddy round face.
She springs by me sudden,
I allow the flannel to be
the most vibrabtly embroidered,
embellished collar.
Her smile is the rhyme,
dancing posture is metaphor,
a poetic jubilation is fructified.
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