Fayaz Bhat Poet Ode

An Ode To William Blake

An Ode To William 
Blake
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He when Painted, 
Printed or Wrote,
His face always wore 
a grave grin.
THAT Soft in heart 
and hand,
The sculptor, stones 
had ever seen;
Sitting by the lonely-
lake’s shore 
Portrayed the 
playing cherubs. 
For me his shop 
would have been,
For Pope, Dryden’s 
coffee 
shop.	
 Loved who little-
boys, herders and 
sheep,
And praised country 
and for lambs prayed.
An artist lived there 
unknown,
 Unnoticed, ahead of 
his time.

(contd...)

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