When a poem is read
A reader's home is entered
Where dwells a kindred spirit
You laugh…you cry
You groan and you sigh
You feel and taste and hear it
We bring tears to eyes
Smiles to lips…
Memories to mind
We make you think
With pen and ink
And open minds once blind
That music is a source of joy
Of that, of course there is
No doubt
But words and phrases
Ink on pages, of that
We'd ne'er do without
It's a gift given to very few
In truth, this game
of words and phrases
Of measurable worth?
Of real value none?
Of real time and of real places?
So why the need for you and me?
What place have we…Poets,
In grand schemes, of things and matters?
…It's because….
We give wings to words
That soar like birds
And oftimes leave your heart
…in tatters…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem