You are set then to admonish us,
We few who are of words,
Of dandy handwritten couplets.
Who picture paint worthy
To make like sight, images by sounds.
So that hearing, even those blind
Can come to see.
Then understand and make Mark of this,
That we would, without injury, die first,
Than omit these works.
That these honest sayings which are offered,
Come, not as mere triflings,
Or by way of any heavy hearted state.
But better still, in heat and fragrances,
Like those of love, in full sake of the heart.
If not being so,
Then willingly, by cruel inevitability,
Like those who become the host of worms,
Or in such another all engulfing consumption,
By flame and onto the funeral pyre
We wittingly go.
Indeed of all on which we speak
Be it physical or spiritual,
It is often bound beyond those,
Who would distroy our simple books.
And yet if is now such a case,
Then so and great is the pity,
That all of which we are speaking
Is but the genial art of description.
Of that which is the torch,
By means of, everyone seeks
The touch of truth.
An honourable quest for each and all.
Therefore do not dismiss the Poet
As a puzzler, or simple crow.
For rhyme beggars the reasoning
And the questions are thus, easier to know.
C2019 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved