Song of the Poet
A poet full of noise you empty of sound
A pilgrimage you have trodden under ground
With every seed that nature drops
Without rain the seeds will wither out
Is this the time of the season
Have the nightingale lost their song
Immortality does not exist
A voice composted seeps into the abyss
Who will hasten to regenerate
A poet’s noise from an empty space
Will anyone rebel against conformity
Or join the pilgrimage of the poets plight
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