A Toast To Poets On Burns' Night - Poem by Dan Reynolds
How can the merest mortals mend the world from all its ills,
when words are all the ammunition left, to pay the bills?
What kind of self-delusion does it take to make a Bard,
when Barred is more be-fitting as we play the drinker's card?
How many inspirations spiral up and down and through
the maelstroms of emotions separating us and you?
Is yours the doleful duty to disect and then display
the integral integrity of every mundane day?
But then you go and shock and awe the audience as one
by painting joyous masterpieces, perched upon a pun.
Showing us the way to say the things we only felt
by bottom dealing and revealing, the cards which we were dealt.
For every type and intent that may drive the poet's duty...
I toast you all who have the gall to bring us truth and beauty.
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The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You