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Old Poet, His Art And Why He Composes Ti
 
Old Poet, His Art And Why He Composes Til Death Sings

With pen and paper he writes as rushes a rising tide
his true heart wide open and sworn to nothing ever hide
always loyal to those humble, hard working, verses true
full of poetic history, even a tale or two
watching dawn's resplendent birth and knowing Time onward flows
ever mindful that Kindness and Love are flowers that grow.

Words come forth as a massive and loud growling ocean tide
his journey a dancing wave, prays for everlasting ride
as hard earth below and brilliant blue sky both sing in tune
he feels that beat that cries out for, coming of shining moon
honest in an Art he swore to be his love and his maid
letting time and honor tell if he ever makes the grade.

Staying real except composing from his romantic dreams
swimming in deepest eddies often were great white sharks teem
his solemn vow, his sweetest goal- this truth he thus relays
we shadow beasts by divinity granted sunny days
upon midnight hour and in its darkest of dreaded dread
he allows ancient muse to filter sweet verse through his head.

With pen and paper he writes as rushes a rising tide
his true heart wide open and sworn to nothing ever hide
always loyal to those humble, hard working, verses true
full of poetic history, even a tale or two
watching dawn's resplendent birth and knowing Time onward flows
ever mindful that Kindness and Love are flowers that grow.

Robert J. Lindley, 9-11-2019
Rhyme, ( Quid ventis et frigus cantus mollis luna curat angustia animam meam. )

By robertjlindley

© 2019 robertjlindley (All rights reserved)

 

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