The poet lives within his word
Some erudite, and some absurd
Some meaningful, and some obscure
Some insightful, some unsure.
He sees a world of different hues
He hides himself, within his muse
He sees the pictures you can't see
Unlocks perspective, sets it free.
On virgin ground his seed he'll sow
With hope his progeny will grow
To reach a youth of towering strength
Restricted only by his length.
He'll make corrections, day and night
Until he feels he has it right
Then he will send it on it's way
And hope to publish it, one day.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
