When poets die,
Sad, but true,
It matters not
What their bodies do,
The spirit flies
To Poet's Corner,
In Westminster Abbey.
You'll not see
Busts or inscriptions
For all the poets
Whose spirits linger
Alongside Chaucer, Browning, Spencer,
And a myriad of authors.
Dead Poet you have earned your share;
Dead Poet I will know you're there,
Composing in the Laureate's Chair.
Verily, a great tribute to each and every poet. Loved reading it................10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Francie, I enjoyed reading your poem. It would be nice after our demise, where all poets meet and greet.