But I am neither
I see great poets here, people of education
Education that I can only dream about
Well I don't need that
You see
My greatest gift is honesty
My simple words written in an honest way
Who is the greater man
He with the fine education, wealth, a fine home
Or the simple man who tills the fields
From dawn till dusk in all weathers
Thus to ensure that the educated wealthy man
Never starves

Give me five acres of green forest
Give me a clear blue sky
A rippling stream in the sunlight
And an orchestra of birds
Give me peace

Why do we ask for help from above
When we know no help will come?
Instead in times of crisis we look for
Those with the experience to help
Those in a time
When no religion exists

drip upon a tired lake
bird sings out at an old man's wake
memory reborn for memory's sake
rumbles in a dormant soul
Sun peeks through a storm strewn sky
baby is sung a lullaby
heart holds a beat while it says goodbye
repent my prodigal son
None shall speak of this in lore
the end draws near this final war
the ripple shall never reach the shore
drip upon a tired lake

My words are but a shooting star
To be seen in all its glory
But as shooting stars fade in an instant
So do my words to be read once
Then fade into obscurity