Poetry is an art form:
Us poets create masterpieces
With words on a blank page
We wield pens; our chosen weapon
And paint bright, vivid pictures
With just a tattered notebook
And a chewed, half-empty biro
On buses, trains and planes,
About everything, anything and nothing
Turning a jumble of letters
Into something worthy of the Louvre
But it is dying; save it, please.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem