One poet to another,
“Your writing is great, what’s your inspiration?”
And the one replies.

“The earth. The sky, the clouds and the moon.
The summer, the fall, the winter and spring.
Everything around me is a picture,
and my job is to paint them through words.
My inspiration? the question is what’s not to inspire.”

The other replies.
“What’s not to inspire? The ****** and the crimes,
The blind, the sick and the sad.
The homeless, the lost and the wicked.
Are those inspiration?” asked the poet.

“The ****** and the crimes are another picture,
A poem is a way to express the grief and sadness in the world and as a result.
Everything is inspiration. It’s the job of a poet, to turn them into words.”