-- THE MASTER POET --

By John Herlihy

We poets hardly know what we are all about,

Our words ring forth as echoes to our shout.

We think we are the writers using pens to fill,

All the fine verses to fall from the Divine Quill.

The Master Poet uses His underlings as pawns,

To pen sublime verses that mimic rising dawns.

His inspiration fills a poet’s heart with dreams,

The poem fills the page to know what it means.

A poet hardly knows where words come from,

Never doubt they from mystery and light spun.

I sit here empty-headed simply filling my chair,

Random thought uninspired, leading to despair.

When suddenly, I fly freely, amid budding tulips,

Verses word by word seep thru trembling lips.

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(c) John Herlihy 18 January 2020