A Poet Is Anonymous Poem by moon batchelder

a poet is anonymous
and hides behind the rhymes
a whisper in the misty wood
a narrator of sorts, it seems,
and gathers every bloom of spring,
the diamonds from the dew,
the essense of the autumn wind
or winter's somber doom.

a poet is ridiculous
and tries to understand
the wonders that the gods create,
the folly wrought by man,
and spins a silken thread of these
to set upon the loom.
til warp and weft - eventually
portray precise the mood.

a poet is presumptuous
and hazards to define
the whole of some experience
by merest strand of lines.
gathers them and blends them
in the cauldron of her soul;
a something like a crucible
transforming lead to gold.