THE MUSE BEHIND THE POET
A thousand times you must wonder, While sitting down and you ponder, On what makes a poet such a wonder. Why his poems are so good, Why his words seem as though food. Does he ever gets tired? Or like some Devine, is he wired? You feel his every pulse, You wish to know his muse, And why his words though piercing bear no abuse. You feel better after reading his every piece, For it soothes your craving for deeper piece. Is he a god? For he wields his quill like a rod. He gives you much joy, And yet
