Some thoughts aren’t a penny’s worth,
Yet, they so often come forth.
Thus, I write them down, without a frown
and give the poem a little crown.
As I think all day, I choose my way.
I must always measure what I say.
For that which I utter, if I so much as stutter,
could tilt my worth down to the gutter!
If the pen is indeed mightier than any blade,
could in every poet’s heart, a warrior be made?
You patronize my words, claim actions speak louder.
When I write letters of peace, you turn to gun powder.
If a picture is worth a thousand words,
could one paint the melody of the birds?
I may be a dreamer, and you may laugh at me.
But the sculptor of tomorrow only a dreamer can be.
Only a dreamer can be…