On poetfreak the poets tweet
In fine frenzy their beaks meet
Some discover innovative forms
Others outpour the inside storm
Sing songs of sorrows and joys
An exhibition of their freak toys
Some in midsummer madness hover
Others sit love lorn in haunted bower
The spring is rich in crisscross colors
Feast for eyes, soft music for ears
Sweet fragrances tickle every nose
From wintry climes ice flakes throws
The juicy autumn laden with fruit
Sense remains sans sensual brute
They read 'books in running brooks'
In mountain stones them sermon look
a beautiful dedication sir