'tis a wonderous thing to be a Poet
To dream, to write, to be as yet we have known it.
The sensual pleasure of that last letter that was written, O ye I've been smitten.
Yet, my work is still incomplete. I must continue to write- a glorious feat.
For, I have not said all of that which I intend to say.
It's far better to dream, dream, dream away.
My heart beats letters per minute, like a spiritual typing machine as it were.
I dream of poetic beings, of a life beyond the toil. Yet that dream is reality within the fibers of the paper that I consider sacred soil.
I am beckoned to write, with Liberty and full license to dream,
my work is as of yet not complete it would seem.
The word of the Poet is a powerful thing, as it moves the planet
all night and day.