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(In recognition of Poetry Month)
Have you ever wondered why poets never die?
Listen to my story, and I will tell you why,
The poet has a rhapsody in the chambers of his mind,
It can be felt by anyone, even the deaf and blind.
Upon their paper, they place their pen,
Then comes forth feelings that have no end.
Heaven to earth, earth to heaven,
The poet's pen holds much leaven.
Water from the mist, to paper with pen,
Fleeting thoughts go by, and a poem will begin.
The poet will take paper, the poet will take ink,
The poet takes down lines to make you stop and think.
Remembering yesterday, and a dream of tomorrow...
and a poet is surely a sister to sorrow.
They know happiness, and they know pain,
Shaping something from nothing, and expect no gain.
Some make merriment, so that you will receive
laughter and joy, you will always believe.
Their words turn to music, music to a song,
Years come, years go, and the words will carry on.
Poets have insight, and are bold to write it down,
Some of it for a smile, some, but for a frown.
If you dont believe that poet's really ever die,
Look up into the heavens if you question I,
Every star that twinkles is a poet in the sky.
The poet can take a sunny day, turn it eerie black,
Or make a merry melody taking you decades back.
Every sort of feeling that has ever crossed your mind,
Has been written by the poet, be it wicked, be it kind.
What a vast expanse between the poet's way and you
They are bold to write it down, and what they write is true.
This story is sincere, I need not to act or lie,
What I write is what I feel & I never wonder why
for, poets go on living, poets never die....
Cathy Leming
Email authors: lefty44@swbell.net
Visit author's website: http://www.cafepoetry.com/The_Stage/cathy_leming.htm
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