Once there lived a poet
In an up and coming town
Where there mostly lived the rich
Though the poor they too were found.
And our young poet was poor indeed
Though his poetry was rich,
But no one saw there any value
Nor it's power to bewitch.
He was starving in a land of plenty
In the springtime of his life.
He lived in a hovel, dark and dim
And his health did give him strife.
But he wrote his words of magic power
Though he knew that he was dying.
And no one stopped to think of him
No one, for he was crying.
So as the last breath left his lungs
He lay a man alone.
He yearned to look through the roof above
As he thought of the nights he'd known,
When stars shone in those clear dark skies
Like twinkling, winking gems.
Then the angel touched him on the lips
He was going home again.
Two hundred years on down the track
His monuments be countless.
And everywhere his poems be read
His name it has been blessed.
How cruel be mankind’s ignorance
When wisdom's cast aside.
As fools they yearn for the gold that glitters
And beauty be denied.
Feb 16 2004.