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The Troubadour.
My love he walks beneath the moon,
to follow stars across the plains
his future cast from times long past,
wrought in nature's beating pulse.
Each breath and breeze will call to him,
and he will weave for you, a dream.
Atop a mountain, arms upraised
he plucks some stardust from the skies;
to place within his poet's pen,
where truth and beauty coil in rhyme.
Beautiful Tribute Line
"...where truth and beauty coil..." loved this poem - one writer to another :D
Thank you Stella, I would
Thank you Stella, I would like a different word to end that line, I am not keen on ' in rhyme' but can't think of anything suitable.