The Poet
I sing songs to memories.
Some tunes triumphant,
like that of the pirate king.
Others be useless to bear.
Poems are effigies,
from reductions and shadows.
But sometimes the hand
is blessed by miracle.
And the verse more
perfect, proper, and true -
than any of you.
Far more true than the sun.
Even more true than death.
That poem moves the world.
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