Poets, with troubled lives and secret thoughts
Have often stood and looked this way
And in this half light, strong and secret
What they thought, nobody can say
As dusk fell, and windows would close
Some words from soft songs would drift in
And take root in the present; some lines
Would nestle in a stranger's heart and brain.
Poets, lost in their melancholy
Lost in the muddle of their lives
Weave verse and rhyme: and thus it is
That their work their lives suvives.
Copyright: Rani Turton
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You captured the essence of what a poet is like, well here in this lovely poem of yours. Spiritsong