Poetry alone just isn't enough
Lacking in music and dance
There is no artistic picture
And Verse could soon belong
To the past, with old-fashioned
words that rhyme...reminiscent
Of Shakespeare's time.
The world has changed...
Glamour's the rage;
Pretty girls scantily clothed
On each page. But to a Poet
And his pen, writing will be
His love till the end, and as
Long as stars shine in the sky
His poetry will never die.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem