Are you a poet? You say that you’re not.
So where is the poet? I shall now search.
There shall be a branch where the nightingale may perch.
Is it that boy with tears in his eyes;
– a few lines about life and he walks away and sighs?
Or is it that man at his desk, his food now stale,
as he composes day and night the rhyme of his tale?
Perhaps it’s he who wrote those letters to his love;
hoping to earn that radiant smile of his turtle dove?
Ah! Such inspiring lyrics for her lovely song!
She cares only for her passion, not if her language is wrong.
Are poets just the like of Shakespeare and Elliot?
So did poetry end with Romeo and Juliet?
Let us walk through the world of this passionate painter
whose brush sings to life stories of that patriotic soldier.
You may call it noise, but even a hammer sings.
Crunching leaves are some of such musical things.
Sad is that man so stoic in nature.
There is a poet in him… chained to his chamber.
Do trees sing and sway in praise of their creator?
Are such hues and fragrance poems of nature?
How comforting could the chirping of birds be?
Just listen to the cricket play his love such melody.
The lake simply reflects the sky so blue.
If I called this poetry would that be true?
It’s best to express your feelings sometimes.
Often, a true poem never rhymes.
Despite what little time (or society) permits,
when an idea strikes, a poet persists.
You say you’re no poet? You couldn’t be more wrong.
I can feel your heart’s emotions so strong.
Tell me, who decides what is poetry?
A few lines could cover the entire sea.
A poem need not be so profound,
as long as one gives his words a little sound.
Now I conclude, for my search comes to an end.
If there is a poet, he lives in you, my dear friend.