The glory of poets is that,
they play with words
Oft like musicians play with notes,
Like a fiddler that plays with his fiddle
Like the dancers that play with their feet,
The heart must go with its rhythm,
Such as a poet has to go with the flow,
Lest he lose his moments grace
To the wicked diversions in his mind,
The mind that inspires
Should not be left alone,
Rather it should indulge in such
The ever so quickening thoughts,
That run through the tunnels of our conscience
We must do our best to catch up on time.