The Poem.

Jagged print on the crystal leaf,
The cause of love and hate,
Here he labours, balanced in belief,
As silent as a seagulls wait,
Awkward words are cast aside,
For good, forever, to prevail,
No man knows what poets hide,
In the poems that they hail,
For the poet's life is of an actors dream,
And the curtain lifts through his poem's theme.

The world comes to life in the poet’s hand,
With words that are magical,
Imagination creates each new land,
No less that the Sun’s light madrigal.
Within this dark hut surrounded by wolves,
He dances with wisdom and eternal joy,
Old potions and vials on the shelves,
Conjure the essence of this lonely toy,
And make this sad world come alive again,
In phrases and words that defy the rain.