A poem begins with inspiration
Not often that easy to acquire.
Thus a poet needs some stimulation
A prerequisite that is required.
The elusive stimulant comes from life
Through living, loving and all its delights
Plus dying, hating and all of Mans strife
And unfulfilled days and all lonely nights.
Whichever the reason the seed had been sown
Come harvest time the yield is a poem:
Be it sad or happy, lengthy or terse
The world still hungers for the poets verse.
So those of us in need for expression
Will write our verses from sense impressions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem