A poet is a shooting star that burns with briefest light.
He glows with glory from afar, then disappears from sight.
A poet flickers in the gloom, a solitary flame.
A ghost, who haunts a garret\'s gloom without a famous name.
A poet\'s words aren\'t wonderful, though from a merry heart
a feast of fun and fellowship a poet may impart!
A poet is the scourge of God upon the tyrants bold.
With words he\'ll smash their iron rod, as prophets did of old.
A poet, is so sensitive, to readers, since they share
a soul and his humanity. To slight them, he’d not dare.
A poet\'s never arrogant, as if he were a king.
A poet, when all\'s said and done, is such a paltry thing.
A poet though\'s remarkable, for pen that he does own
can soothe a sick and sorry soul, but break a bully\'s bone!