As I lift up my pen and begin to write,
I pause in the sun’s light,
thinking how beautiful it is,
I forget my poem ‘this’,
but I think and think and do my best,
if only I could remember ‘this’ I’d forget the rest,
but then I remember the beautiful warmth,
and know I’d never wan’t to remember a storm,
so I hold that moment one more time,
and then I’ll try to think of another rhyme.