No Enlightened Poet Am I Proclaimed

No enlightened poet am I proclaimed, Rhyming high-flown philosophies in poesy, (Instead, I only scratch out my words In verses of winds and scents of spring-- Of the shades of the light crowning wintertime clouds, Sing the grace of the wings in a homecoming sky.) For I am no more a poet than you, And you, with your verses, no more than I. (And so I write of the white blush of moon Not referencing love, neither lost nor found And rhyme the rhythm of the lapping sea With the throb of the heart in the desert heat.) For what more, oh poets, are poems than beauty? (Write: The ethereal river spills sheens iridescent Beneath the expanse of the heavenly lights) And what more than beauty is life? (Breathing perfumes and sparkles of nectars and grass Spelling effervescence within the infinite hues.)