Ah, my dear reader, we are all poets in the heart. It is out of the heart that the mouth speaketh and writeth. When our hearts are too full for common language, they pour forth the language of the poets. The fog of life enveloped you. The one who wrote that poem got through her distress and I can too.
Poetry is the voice of ones heart.
Here's one written at least 150 years ago. I love it. The Daffodils I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. And then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.