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.
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