A Poor Poet
Quietly sitting in the magic room, with his pen in hand
A poet dreams of a distant land
With words that dance and thoughts that soar
Yet his pockets are empty forever poor
He weaves his tales of love loss
Nature's beauty and winter's frost
His heart pours out on every page
A silent actor on life's stage
No riches come from the lines he writes
No gold no gems and no grand delights
But in his soul a treasure lies
A wealth unseen by worldly eyes
For in every verse there is a piece of him
A gentle light that never grows dim
Though he is poor in coin yet he's rich in art
A poet with a boundless heart
A poet dreams of a distant land
With words that dance and thoughts that soar
Yet his pockets are empty forever poor
He weaves his tales of love loss
Nature's beauty and winter's frost
His heart pours out on every page
A silent actor on life's stage
No riches come from the lines he writes
No gold no gems and no grand delights
But in his soul a treasure lies
A wealth unseen by worldly eyes
For in every verse there is a piece of him
A gentle light that never grows dim
Though he is poor in coin yet he's rich in art
A poet with a boundless heart
Public Collections Containing This Poem
Other Poems By This Author
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A Mind Of Its Own
PoetFabrice Cospolite
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Follow Me
PoetFabrice Cospolite
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