My big strong Atlas-Man. :) And below are the stars up above us...

Mmm...Frango! Apparently it's a Chicago thing.

Mmm...Frango! Apparently it's a Chicago thing.

For this prompt, we took the last line of our favorite poem and turned it into the first line of our own original poem. Mine's from Archibald MacLeish's "Ars Poetica":
a poem should not mean, but be.
as dewdrops freezing on a flower petal,
or bumpy itch from the stinging nettle,
the laughter from a tiny child
as he stomps through strawberries grown wild,
a poem dances on the world’s tongue, free.
a poem is the cover of our waking sleep.
it tilts and rises, sways and falls
over model planes and porcelain dolls
and bumps against the nightlight thrice
whilst whistling through sugar and spice,
and up the pipes like a chimney sweep.
a poem is an Artist’s masterpiece
it frames itself in frivolity
and cultures inequality.
it’s painted fears, love, wonder,
our triumph blended with our ev’ry blunder.
it defies the meaning, seeks release.
a poem should not mean, but be…
to puts our insides out to see.

As close-up as I could get without a flash of the Purdue Kids Choir performers...and a friend of ours from the ward, A.K., in the background! (The one in the blue right in the middle.)