I Bowed To You

My lord envy that mortal,

Which makes the nature-his art more pretty,

He envy that mortal which has faith,

Even when the world tastes bittery,

With the sense of love for my lord,

I asked with my whole right!

"Oh my lord, my creator, my love",

When a poet appeared in my sight,

A body of a mortal staved to death,

One who smiled also in pain,

The hands who wrote so said life,

Were now tied with the iron chains,

My lord cleared his throat,

While I processed and bowed infront,

I was staring the poet's eyes of love,

When my ears heard this grunt,

"He, the sculpture of mine, how dare he",

Said by my love in this crown wore by him,

"He wrote my sorrow, my art, me and my peace",

I gazed with blurred eyes and eyesight getting dim,

I bowed again, after getting those words,

I bowed to you my poet, you told me my worth,

I bowed again to show you your respect,

And I bowed again when you died with mirth.