The Poet
O Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
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The poet arranges wit
To engrave a voice fit
Beautifully well to hit,
The mood to transform lit
With thoughts that lift up with wings.
They reflect joy that brings
The mood, which tenderly clings
To those entrancing things.
Such things creative to thrill,
Pen, hand commands to till
Ink through the poet's firm will
To have the voice fulfil
The sensation that is not dim.
Into his mind, he takes a swim
To explore it wide and calm to him
With a deal great of vim.
The thoughts he proceeds to prick
Well for him, as to pick
Them dear for his ink to slick
Them as smooth words that click
As a yarn fine he did spin
Into his mind, not thin
With joy and light he does twin.
With words he marks to win
Bosoms candid to be kid-
Friendly, wide like a lid
Of the sun's eye brightly did
To mind whose pain it rid.
Collected hand has through ink,
Sound harmonious to sink
Deep in brain, who moves to drink
Them on delight's brim.
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