Ode To a Rock Song

He thought he was a poet but turned out to be a lyricist He didn't even know it Until his words were on the hit list He wrote sonnets a-plenty Rhyme and meter sublime They made songs of almost twenty Without paying him a dime! He woke up to it all too late He dozed too long, too ignorant But such is the blind fool’s fate If of worldly ways indifferent “how I missed my ultimate calling!” he wailed and cried and sobbed as he heard his words on beats a-falling Of honor and credit robbed The producers made a killing The poet died in debt But the words stayed alive and thrilling On vinyl’s preciously kept In the end the poet was rewarded By life’s eternal song And posthumously awarded Credit that tried to right the wrong But far above the earthly sky Looking down upon the thieves No tears were there to cry As he sat under Abraham’s eaves Seeing the producers one by one Shedding their fleshy pants and top To be wrapped in burning flames and sun Wailing and crying for a single drop