Speak to me, Poet.
Sing the songs of the sea.
Use your rhythm and rhyme
and teleport me.
Paint a grand picture
with kaleidoscope words
of great crashing waves
and soaring sea birds.

Pine to me, Poet
tell me stories of woe,
of lovers and champions
that have been let go.
Sing softly of passion
and sadly of pain;
if the song is familiar, 
I'll join in the refrain.

Swear to me, Poet
that your story is true-
and I'll live vicariously
for a moment, through you.
Turn words into vision
and then let me see.
Though the hour is late,
I have nowhere to be.

Cry with me, Poet,
Oh! how the heart aches,
at the depth of the sorrows,
the mournful mistakes.
But spare me not, Poet,
til your songs are all through;
Though the hours fly by
I have naught else to do.

Write for me, Poet,
and I'll write for you.
We'll share our condition
be the skies gray or blue.
The morning will be here
before you know it.
So for now, sit a while,
and rhyme with me, Poet.