When I’m inspired I’m but an observer,
Enthralled and encompassed in a mosaic of fervor.
The ideas are finished and I’m but a scribe,
Laboring for understanding as each word I imbibe.
So often after a work is recorded,
I read it to comprehend what was reported.
Most surprising of all is that after my screening,
I’ve transcribed words without knowing their meaning.
Themes are random and messages mixed.
Their origin unknown since I remain transfixed
As I record them without any rhyme or reason.
To do less would be intellectual treason.
I’m grateful I received this precious gift.
I know I must give others a lift
By passing on these messages from somewhere above.
Like life, problems are transient, so be happy through love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem