The Poet Poem by Mac Adrone Adonay

The poet is not the one who writes a poem
He is a great weaver; a weaver of his soul
The wonderful threads of his rising thoughts control
The movements of the arousing night
How the sunset leave its reddish glow
And why the stars ride the winging flight
Of a midnight bird in a rainbow

The poet is not the one who writes a poem
He is a good painter; a painter of his heart
Living in his soul are bright portraits to impart
The depth in the pasture of colors
Is in his emotions deeply lain
New world opens and the calling doors
Invite the eyes with pleasures to gain

The poet is not the one who writes a poem
He is a kind mirror; a mirror of his life
His character; joy over tears, dream over strife
Reflection lives and it never dies
It's the golden page of his story
It is the song of the butterflies
On the flowery and crystal sea.