With a stroke of his pen
A touch of his soul
He writes down the words
He lets the words flow
For he is a poet
He doesn’t know why he is
He shares to the world of himself
For a poet, this is how is
He will write about blue horizons
Or a tear that comes to one’s cheek
Or a snowflake when snow it does fall
How gently it blows in the breeze
He will write for the laugh of a child
For others to give hope inside
And loneliness too, he knows what it is
He has seen it with his own eyes
He will write about the oceans
And of places he has never been
For with only a picture
He visits with a stroke of his pen
For such is the life of a poet
He knows not why it is he is
Read are the words of the one to the many
And truly you know he exists.
Copyright 2005 Bill Simmons
aka BillWilliamStar@aol.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem