I met a poet who was poor…
No money to his name…
Yet he kept writing more and more…
For sharing was his aim…
No payment offered or received…
No aid, grant or support…
But he had faith, for he believed
Tthat God would bless each thought…
And I believe that when he died…
God sent two angels down…
To wipe away the tears he cried…
And then give him his crown…
If not, then there’s no justice, friends…
For poets still on Earth,
Who write with love… till each life ends…
If no-one sees their worth…

Denis Martindale March 2018.