A Poet

Not everyone a poet be It takes more than a show of words Or feigned esteemed ability. These attributes are so absurd! Like inkless pens expect to write A single word of poesy. A poet lives to dream each night Ideas wrought subconsciously; And when the golden sun has gleamed Its steady subdued morning glow The poet wakes from fondest dreams Imbued by schemes the night bestowed Into a measured rhyming gem: Conjured dreams become a poem.