In the quiet corners of a room,
Where morning light softly spills,
Billy Collins weaves his gentle loom,
Crafting worlds with tender quills.

Each line a door to the mundane,
Yet within, the magic unfurls,
Transforming the simple, the plain,
Into a dance of words and worlds.

Through the lens of his thoughtful gaze,
The ordinary becomes profound,
As the reader meanders through the maze
Of thoughts unspoken, yet unbound.

In the echoes of his quiet voice,
We find solace in the known,
And in his poetry, we rejoice,
In the beauty of moments shown.