The Poet

The Poet

On the corner stands The Poet,
thoughts and words his wares.
He would gladly share them
but so few seem to care.

Thoughts and words pre-edited,
for their consideration.
Offered to them free of charge,
for one remuneration:

That they might think a new thought;
laugh or shed a tear;
find joy where once was there was none;
find courage in their fear.

Indifferently they wander by.
They hear but do not listen.
Unaware of what they’ve missed,
they see yet gain no vision.

So stands The Poet always,
with watchful heart and eye.
He guards the post assigned him
as centuries flash by.

Of poets there are many;
of The Poet only one.
One responsibility:
Leave not the job undone.