True Poets
B
Bill Cantrell
0
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The blessings of a poet,
Has been granted to the child
In innocence,
They nurture nature's breasts
Life is eyes wide opened,
As they play between the lines
All is clean and worry free,
With no sins to confess
Their wisdom is their ignorance,
And yet, they clearly see
Their command is sounds of laughter
Their rhyme is trust in you and me
A book of poems they do not write,
Their whole world is but one
And when they leave their childhood,
Their poetry becomes undone
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