The Old Poet ©

The old poet’s done; he sits in the sun,
Sifts through his mind a cherished memory to find

His words like axes revealed fertile soil
helped clear this land his writing his toil.

Raw courage it took to put thoughts in a book
His thoughts so new understood by so few.

Judged simple by brothers plain lazy by others
he suffered their wrath and clung to his path.

Poetry is rain brings life anew
colours our land in a soft hew.

Some poets outreach they try to teach,
others don’t explain they just entertain.

It's a thankless task this truth to unmask,
for no one will pay to read what you say.

Now he is old, a great poet he’s told,
they did listen, smiling, his eyes glisten.

The secrets he wrote in each little note,
helped lighten the load down our journeys road.