The wordless poet,
His verse doth not rhyme
Of meter, none can be found
His passions-know not the ground
Of syntax, the words betray
The meaning of his mind's foray
But his passions, as the oceans dwell
His tumultuous heart doth swell
The fire of ages, the heart burns
A place of drama, movement churns
His life of tribute to 'les beaux arts'
The anxious dance took him far
What the artist lacked in abundance-grace
Passion came and took its place.