'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.