George Clowers

There comes the day when the poet is asked, why? Why did you become a poet, and why do you structure your works the way you do? And the answer is quite simple on all accounts, "I don't know." Beyond the music in the thought, and being led by some unseen force, this poet seems to have digested a full complement of song and story. This is not just beautiful words tied together to express a thought or a feeling, but a significant blending of the mystery of why poets are so revered.
The intent disappears soon after we grasp the meaning, and we are left wondering why we are reading such when the story comes in a way that is known, yet new. We read on because, like the poet, the why question really has no meaning beyond the wisp of a cloud. I can neither ride it, nor hold it, I simply view it, enjoy it, and it moves on. I am left with a song.