The Wise Poet spoke, and wisdom reigned.
I got to know my skilled are just feigned.
This woman has become the soul of nothingness
and there is no guilt in her lack of wiseness.
Temptous breeze, caressed her cheeks
but she compared it to smelly leeks.
Words merely bead for her on a nylon string,
like a multicolored cheap throwaway thing.
But, but, but, What joy they bring,
lighting up the face to help you sing,
like a piano tuner, with no musical skills
like a mechanic with a role to fill.
And as the poet hoots, wiser than most,
I just raise to a very proud toast.
To words, to poets and all writers
To all lives strange and cynical fighters
All rhyme must smoothly sail on
This is the beginning the dawn.
Rhyme and hey let words take over
I promise you I've written this cold sober
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