Do only poets know
how every word is born,
comes winging from eternity,
to be tasted, savoured on the tongue
and then returned
with love, humility and gratitude
and that huge thing, the human heart;
and just a modest hope
that others will accept this thought, this offering?
Do only poets know?
I hope not.
Otherwise, what's the point?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, I believe only poets know...and further, those poems which come 'winging from eternity' are the best ones. I credit that scamp of a muse who often makes theings seem easy...then other times, leaves me alone to muck it out. This is lovely.