A poet is a castle
Having been built from stone
Seemingly impenetrable
With a moat around it’s walls

A poet builds these walls
To protect what’s within
The moat is filled with creatures
That will destroy whatever tries to come in

But castles are not perfect
The stone can crumble with age
The things within the castle will quarrel
The boiling *** will overflow

And when this happens
A poet writes about the anguish
That they have captured
The pain that they protect

They do not let anyone in their castle
Because they do not want them to get hurt
But castles, no matter how strong they seem,
In the end, will burn