Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

And every one of them words rang true and glowed like burnin' coal. Pourin' off of every page, like it was written in my soul from me to you.

If it meant my love was really true, I'd gladly die and watch over you.

I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come.

A poem may be worked over once it is in being, but may not be worried into being.

Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.