Try this

God, we are so lucky to be in this bed of language.
Read poetry - even when and if you can't write it yourself.
Hear the talk of concerned people.
Watch and hear language and thoughts evolve,
then watch the bee lift up into the turquoise canopy of sky and tree.
There are times when it is most poetic to simply think,
God, the earth is beautiful.
When the inch worm dangling in front of the busy road,
or the people who have been sitting by the street all morning

are to be recognized.

But to my generation of digital poets, I must say this:

Know that when thoughts are actualized on the page, they change.

That I am at the computer typing this

signifies that these words have not arrived undisturbed.

Like transplanting a tree into your own well-tended garden,

this poem is once, maybe twice, maybe worlds removed.

It is a tourist seeking, but not finding, the place of origin

it so desperately wants to see,

to make its own.

Still, it is worth it
to find the poetry that is unedited by a moody hand,
the phrase that isn't planned,

the lines that make you grateful
for what our language can be.