Does anyone (other than me) write poetry? If so, would you be willing to share?

Here's a poem of mine!

The Many Skies of Ireland

To the fisherman in the bay, and to his lovely wife

To the baker in his bed at night, and to his every strife

She looked like heaven above, like the mornings own life

The edge of her body was smooth like the oceans patience

Her eyes were ever changing, never quite making sense

And every morning, in the smallest river, her hair she did rinse

The people of Ireland admired her in so many ways

They sang to her, and wished her so many happy days

And she was seen in every one of the suns rays

She was Evelyn, the greatest beauty ever born

She was the princess of the land, her innocence was to adorn

Forever the people of Ireland, awaiting her awakening at morn

Her prince was away, a far far distance from her loving embrace

And to stop feelings of sadness, Evelyn wore white lace

But eventually, it turned black and covered her face

For Evelyn's prince was thought to have died

She wished, with every breath that death, he would have defied

But in that moment, Ireland's melancholy sky cried

Love called out to the beloved princess of Ireland

And she rode out into the horizon, its hills bland

She rode and rode until she saw nothing but water and sand

At that moment, with the oceans screams echoing
Evelyn had a moment of utter knowing

Her love, her love, her prince was not showing

The princessís heart broke into a million shards

That had never shown, nor will show on any gypsyís cards

Each piece flew over many many yards

A fisherman was the one to discover her body, in the sand it had lain

And yet, though nobody had known, Evelyn had not been sane

Her love was gone, her love was broken, and so Ireland's sky did rain

The morning of the princessís funeral, so tragic, so sad

Her beloved prince rode into her kingdom, quite a journey he had

But with one step into her land, he knew something was bad

The news of Evelynís death drove her prince into the ocean

Ever searching, he believes to this day that it was a sin

Him, leaving her for even the briefest moment, but thenÖ

Maybe Irelandís Evelyn isnít gone, for she did so ever love the sky

Maybe she is flying above the hills and the villages so high

Maybe she is watching her prince with faith in her eye.

(I wrote this poem a couple of years ago, but still love it! [img]smileys/smilies_04.gif[/img])