The dream of every bard who’s born or made
Or both is take on Muse’s wings and fly,
And keep the wordy paintings till they fade,
On literary canvas, though he may die!
The words of gold that come out from his heart,
Refined for purity in mind’s own hearth,
And written, placing them aright by art,
Until they emanate brilliance that’s worth!
Some opt for numbers seeming like record;
Some toil producing styles those appear fine;
Some strike with Mother Nature an accord;
Some make it taste like wine or gall or brine!
There is a dream for every bard since birth –
To be acclaimed by readers, after death!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 29-07-2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem