Dear poets! how we love to write,
With words that flow like rivers bright.
We spin our tales with prose so grand,
Becoming the rulers of our literary land.
We write of love, and loss, and life,
With rhymes that cut like a sharpened knife.
Our metaphors, so cleverly put,
Can make a reader's heart soar, or tug.
We gather our words with care and grace
As we craft our lines at an alarming pace.
And though we may sometimes struggle
We know that poetry for us is pure blissful trouble.
We ponder the beauty of each word,
Making sure they're heard, undeterred.
Our similes, our analogies, our irony too,
All work together, to make our writing true.
And when we're done, with pen in hand,
We marvel at the world we've planned,
And though it may have taken a while,
We're left with something truly worthwhile.
For poets, they have a gift, so rare,
To turn a phrase into a true affair.
And though the road can be long and winding,
We won't stop till we've perfected our guiding.
So, here's to poets, who write their hearts out,
For we know the words are what life's all about.
And though we may never be millionaires,
We truly know, that we're the poets,
God bless our future endeavours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem