Blessed are the poets
who read more and write less!
burn up nights in passion's flame
breathe in breathe out every poem
hours rewarded in busy ingest
no repenting on forsaken rest
a drift a wind a stormy rush
din of mirth a grievous hush
won't forgo once embark
heart's vent in light or dark
like a mission promise to keep
wake they up in a world asleep
read and read till the seeds are sown
in heart sprouts up own poem full grown!
Blessed be their tribe
for them the poemdom thrives!
Outstanding words, I love it when poetry speaks of itself in the third person, Great poem my friend.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
With each read word ingested, the seed of new knowledge planted, that it fresh, and blooms again...the beautiful evolution that sprouts poetry...such the glorious garden. A sweet write whose fragrances long linger with me. PEACE