This poem is a reflects on what it is I love about poetry and other art

As the poet's pen dances across the page
she weaves a web which captures worlds,
ensnares ephemeral moments
which, without her craft,
are, all too soon, gone.

She traps the transcendent,
crystalises memories
of fragile, forgotten yesteryears;
the wonder and the warmth,
places and faces which shape the self.

Her art,
like street lamps shining bright
illuminates the road we each have travelled.
Those shared paths of sadness and joy.
Rambling roads which widen and narrow
but all
eventually
lead
home.