He is just a poet
Too many years now to count
Occupies time by setting to rhyme
All the words his pen pours out

Seems there's a never ending stream
Of words that freely flow
From the end of his pen into this poet's hand
That never once will let him go

Blowing with ease this poetic breeze
Seldom seen but often felt
This man that's just a poet
Too many years now to count