‘National Poetry Month Comes In The Morning’

Year round Poets write themselves within the dawning of a new day.
Present, past, or future. We make Sun rays from disarray.
Clouds keep us floating to supersonic atmospheres.
Spawning rhythmic poetry over clouded and shrouded ideas.
Seasons come and seasons go.
Clockwise and counterclockwise Poets wait for another poem to echo.
 Poetry just couldn't keep from peeping in.
The Poets celebrated the moment by writing about the transcend.