The Purpose Of Poetry

When first Man strove his thoughts to form, New words became his goal, Expressing hot and cold and warm And spirit, body, soul And heart and mind and conscience, too, His dreams and his extremes And ever-changing points of view Turned into reams and reams... From papyrus to paper size, From words etched into stone, Are truths writ there before our eyes And laws that must be known... As writers scratched their inky quills, Inventors thought ahead And simply by their thinking skills Came fountain pens instead... Computers came, both good and bad, At our own risk, take care... Keep saving all those rhymes we had, Or they're lost in thin air... But when they're saved and shared abroad, Just think what's been acquired... By some new special train of thought The world could be inspired... Thus poetry is in our hands, Our heartfelt legacy, Through which the whole world understands Each psalm God caused to be... Each birthday card that wishes well With rhymes of fondest love, Beguiles us with its magic spell, As if from God above... From hymns to pop songs day-by-day, The world is made aware That poetry is here to stay With wondrous words to share... Be thankful, then, for precious prose, For favourites old and new, With hidden secrets that God knows And prophecies for you...