A poet is a shooting star that burns with briefest light.
He glows with glory from afar, then disappears from sight.
A poet flickers in the gloom, a solitary flame.
A ghost, who haunts a garret's gloom, without a famous name.

A poet's words aren't wonderful, though from a merry heart
a feast of fun and fellowship a poet may impart!
A poet is the scourge of God upon the tyrants bold.
With words he'll smash their iron rod, as prophets did of old.

A poet, is so sensitive, to readers, since they share
a soul and his humanity. To slight them, he’d not dare!
A poet's never arrogant, as if he were a king.
A poet, when all's said and done, is such a paltry thing.

A poet though's remarkable, for pen that he does own
can soothe a sick and sorry soul or break a bully's bone!