Simple Dreary Song He Made Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Simple
Dreary
Song he made
Free of all
And free of things
No thing that was not him
Made
To him
No thing
No thing
And he sang
Sang all freely
Sang of Spring
That was now
Towards the end
Sang of Summer
That was waiting at
The door
With parched throat now
Filled with wine
Waters and liquids divine
That kept coming
Coming
Coming
On he hopped all
Merrily
On he hopped and versed
And sang
Poet Seer who had
Inside him
A heart of sad
Yet he hopped
Yet he joyed
As the Sub-Conscious showed its hand
And welled up
Up to surface as a well
Magic well
With the liquid almost coming
Stream, no end, ever-increasing.
Even dusk
And its failing twilight
Then
The night and the eyes of
Stars
Did not cease him from his
Songs
And his lines to heavens rose
And his lines the people sang
And his lines were of the heavens
And his lines the heavens rang