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Tags: poetry, author

It's about a poet

Call it being clever, call it skill or call it wit –
he had a way of picking words that always seemed to fit.

He started writing stories, then progressed to rhyme and verse
with words that sparked emotion – some for better, some for worse.

Declared a ‘natural poet’, since he had no dossier –
his writing lacked the polish that a scholar might portray.

He had no formal training, used his own inherent style
to capture tragic moments – or the ones that make you smile.

His grammar wasn’t perfect, punctuation not the best,
and judging by his structure – never took a writing test.

But readers seldom criticized his aspirant technique,
as he conjured raw emotion using words of common speak.

He wrote about adventures, both on land and out at sea,
a search for gold in arctic-cold and captives being freed.

A southern fight, a solo flight, a lady’s final tour –
a love beset by Internet and loss without a cure.

His special gift was known to lift the hearts of those in pain –
a way to make a sunny day from one of clouds and rain.

When feeling melancholy, he could take away the moon –
turned happiness to sorrow – very few would be immune.

He took the time to craft each line for maximum appeal –
an exposé – a raw display of how he’s prone to feel.

The poet was an amateur – he didn’t seek acclaim –
he had no thoughts of grandeur and no appetite for fame.

His works of art were à la carte – available for free,
he sought no compensation nor a trophy to decree.

The man was just a poet with a knack for rhyme and verse
who loved to spark emotion – some for better, some for worse.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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