Poet
By: Welkin Siskin
The aura around— the floral and fauna, the songs of birds, the unending chant of a shore, the passing twilight, the dusk, the silence— created you.
This life a drop of dew
That hangs in a taro leaves, transitory and short–lived,
Could in moment's split pass.
To you a sound make a passionate oeuvre
That sound sounds like a melody
Played in the twilight as opera;
To you a river's chant flows
With smooth finish of a song,
And even the darkest of hour glows
With excitement and utter fun.
Thou art poet, separated by art,
Special so made by art
That shan't from thy heart depart;
Thou rise like kites with thy spirit
And that the world sigh with a deep breath of relief
With thy strength of a pen.
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