Yes, Mother Nature teaches bards,
Her secrets umpteen well concealed;
But never displays all her cards,
Her beauty although, much revealed;
Great poets learn to observe her,
While thanking her, for her offer.
God gives the poets gift of words
That issue forth from heart afree;
While wond'ring how can fly the birds,
And wand'ring in lands near the sea;
But painting scenes with words aright,
Is art that comes both day and night.
Great poets write on common themes,
With expertise and finesse much;
Concocting frescoes in wild dreams,
While scribbling them with magic touch;
With what a mighty art, they weave,
As readers read and sigh and heave.
The ordinary things, we see,
The bard perceives in unique ways;
Wringing the quintessence freely,
And adding elves, gypsies and fays;
The earth and sky are full of awe,
Appeasing what poets seek for.
dedicated to William Wordsworth
written in the style of
'I wandered lonely as a cloud...'
Copyright by Dr John Celes 26-07-2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem