I wouldn't be a poet
Unless I had been touched
By the bolts of melody
But I've had the poets luck
Paying my libations
At altar of the muse
Refiner of perception
Disabuser of the ruse
Attuned to visions nil perceived
By slow and slumbering eyes
Enamoured enough to court belief
For visions of divinity
The poet has ruminated
Her license to be awed
By the splendour of her surroundings
A bug with no known cause
Her incessant thinking turns her to
The subjects of her wonder
The sea, the earth, the moon,
The voice of bards, gods thunder