Oh for the skill of the poet's pen
That I might stir the souls of men
If only to an introspection
Pensive moments of reflection
For in such moments man is real
He can allow himself to feel
To listen, love, to shed a tear
To cry aloud, though all may hear

Pray why is it then
That men, "true men"
May never share
Their love, their sorrow, their despair
Is this the world thus juxtaposed
Where love and sorrow are so loathed
Or might have earth 'tween night and day
Begun to spin the other way?

No fates, nor stars are there to blame
Nor must man's fate remain the same
Pray heed the word the poet tells
In lofty verse he shall reveal
To all who have but ears to hear
To all who would but shed a tear
Oh for the skill of a poet's pen
That I might stir the souls of men...