Poetry speaks wonders about the love and tragedies of life itself. Of the burning desire for a lover. Of the inhumane sacrifices of a true daydream. And of a beautiful red rose that blooms just before sunrise on a beautiful summer day. In the Autumn Mist of a colorful victim. Or maybe the desire to be perfect only to be the unwilling Nevernever (And yes that's a word...It means Fantasy) of a true infedelity. As the lines "Come hither," I will come to the art of poetry. The burning desire for the passions in life. Lead to this beautiful art. For the pencil is a dandelion, morphed into a rocket ship. It can do extraordinary things.