The messenger must be ready To pack his bags and leave. He will not cling to useless weight, His message is too sweet. He will not stop to catch a breath, He cares not for his needs. He runs to tell of what he knows — A poet with his feet.
The soldier stands in shining mail And seems, of men, the best. Because he stand on guard all night, The citizens can rest. He has no need to question if He’ll pass the final test. In bravery he'll meet the foe — A poet with his chest.
The farmer tends his crops and reaps The produce of the land. He plows the field and tills the dirt According to his plan. His yield, year round, is sustenance For animal and man. He helps the tender seeds to grow — A poet with his hands.
The scholar can by careful thought Reveal the source of rain. He takes a youth with passions wild And makes him wise and tame. O’er books and notes he slaves all night, Our hearts and minds to train. In gold he never found his wealth — A poet with his brain.
The poet fills a simple verse With wisdom to the brim. He feels within his breast that beauty Is his closest friend. Where does the humble poet fit Among these noble men? The poet, with his measured words, Is all these with a pen.