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On the river of poetry
I am the rich ripples and a riddle
My poetry is the strength of a sentry.
This ship is my heart.
I have roamed this water and rain
And life has had me lettered and coloured
I have met my destined reign
And poetry has laughed at me.
Should I be blamed?
That my fingers are symbols blessed
That I have chosen a life of poetry.
I am the weaver of wordy birds
The weaver bird and metaphor of words.
I have met poets who mused putrid
Forced inspires that sing best rid.
I know the looks of pure poets
If I lie ask Salaudeen,
The poetry hunter whose muse trumpets.
Salaudeen is like a searching curious finger
He nested for poetry
Caught it, a golden bird, and ringed her.
This ship is my heart.
But in this world and crave of mine
I only wish we could be ten and fine.
And kings in the world of poetry.
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