If words were birds: A poem 

If words were fleet as birds 

Their wingspan over our spuds 

Grow honeysuckle from the mud 

Sunflowers from every bud 

Even lightning can be light as feather 

No architect may be the weather 

Spices and herbs are in the humour 

A smile is all the needed glamour 

Fate is no hypocrite, no deceiver 

It can humble even the receiver 

But one can press one’s own lever 

For, a whisper can still a river 

Give a word for each pressing storm 

And a brilliant dawn will be born 

Even woes and worries are mere toys 

for the lip that generosity employs