When a Poet Dies
I theorize, when a poet dies
Another poet is born,
The grieving Muse will now peruse
For the vessel she was shorn,
Her grieving heart forlorn
Perhaps she'll see a pauper's child
Whose parents fraught with strife
Will in the world where he's been born
Need extra sparkle in life
Or will it be the tiny girl whose first breath
Breathes disdain?
For being hoped for as a boy, through
Mother's labored pain?
Or would it be, how could it be?
But maybe, just for fun,
She'll choose the prideful rulers child
His very well-loved son
His soft spoke petaled words may fall
Upon the rock-hard ears withal
To reach a prideful heart
A tiny poet from the start?
And thus, I theorize,
And here I'll finally summarize
That when a poet dies
Their spirit fly's up to the skies
To see Their Father's shining eyes
Their Muse is left forlorn
Until another poet is born
For Pangie,
Rest in Peace dear poet friend
your words and spirit live on.
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