MY POEM

by Rich Accetta-Evans
 
My poem delights me.
My poem is mine.
 
It is like fresh bread
When I bake it myself.
 
It is like my son
The day he was born.
 
I laughed as I wrote it,
And clapped my hands.
 
I will stop a stranger
To show him my poem.
 
Because it delights me.
Because it is mine.