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Some sad souls find their words

through one drink or a dozen,

stirred into a pitcher of bitterness, 

or dug from a field of anger and resentment,

sown by sorrow, raked with regret,

fertilized by vengeance for lost love, 

ironically giving birth to beautiful blossoms.

Others find beauty in everything,

in their children, of course,

and family, friends, and familiars,

but also in the catalog of daily living,

in the exotic rose,

the mundane marigold,

the common fern, 

predictably giving birth to beautiful blossoms.

Many scribes have a sadness muse,

prompting great works

of gain followed by loss,

replete in their integrity,

they open their veins,

water their seedlings with blood,

painfully giving birth to beautiful blossoms.

All writers know, however,

that regardless the source,

no matter the topic,

the truth shall come out,

honesty will triumph,

hard work will trump artlessness,

every time, in every piece,

for each and everyone,

each wonder-filled heart,

generously giving birth to beautiful blossoms.