Life Or Poetry

I was never born a poet But a pauper standing on a pulpit Penning words in spring tide dings Ritzy scribbling like trundling rings Talons of my feet Seething grounds I scratch and leet Feathers I preen and wag Over my scruff I rip and gag On rivers and wells I soak and dip Shimming on reflections I gobble or sip Over hills and cliffs I hover and skip Your face I slip over my lip "Poetry brought life to a dreamer as a penner But why is life more important than poetry as a winner?" (Prosebite)