Once befriended by the bitter guile of my morning coffee,
A fresh morning at brew, beans of a Caribbean land.
At my desk, a window open,
Opportunity, it does beckon.
As the ideas they flow at the whistle of the wind,
New born thoughts, a tender nature of which the birds do sing.
An unearthly realization,
A pen and a mind,
A symphony of meaningful participation.
A new sense of self belief,
To a writer, a gift.
To himself, a talent distinct.