Old Poet, His Art and Why He Composes Til Death Sings

Old Poet, His Art And Why He Composes Til Death Sings With pen and paper he writes as rushes a rising tide his true heart wide open and sworn to nothing ever hide always loyal to those humble, hard working, verses true full of poetic history, even a tale or two watching dawn's resplendent birth and knowing Time onward flows ever mindful that Kindness and Love are flowers that grow. Words come forth as a massive and loud growling ocean tide his journey a dancing wave, prays for everlasting ride as hard earth below and brilliant blue sky both sing in tune he feels that beat that cries out for, coming of shining moon honest in an Art he swore to be his love and his maid letting time and honor tell if he ever makes the grade. Staying real except composing from his romantic dreams swimming in deepest eddies often were great white sharks teem his solemn vow, his sweetest goal- this truth he thus relays we shadow beasts by divinity granted sunny days upon midnight hour and in its darkest of dreaded dread he allows ancient muse to filter sweet verse through his head. With pen and paper he writes as rushes a rising tide his true heart wide open and sworn to nothing ever hide always loyal to those humble, hard working, verses true full of poetic history, even a tale or two watching dawn's resplendent birth and knowing Time onward flows ever mindful that Kindness and Love are flowers that grow. Robert J. Lindley, 9-11-2019 Rhyme, ( Quid ventis et frigus cantus mollis luna curat angustia animam meam. )