Crown Of A Poet

When my pens are all dried up And my writing on Earth is done I will then take off my tarnished crown And I will hand it off to my son. To continue the writing that I have started As from this world I have parted. A poet my son he will become To reflect his life in rhyme To bring forth beauty and wonder of himself Which will take a never ending life. For the last poem is like a kiss, For one is born whenever there is a wish. A poets pencil is his best friend And a piece of paper is his canvas of white To paint the words that have been unpainted And to stir the soul and open the mind. To bring forth again the smiles and tears, That has been locked away for so many years. And when my pencils have all been broken And my writing pads are burnt in fire I will then loose my poetry crown As I will seek a higher power. Where my poems will be written upon the sky Where tears again I will never cry. My tarnished crown will become my sons To write on Earth what he sees best To write during the day and at night to pray For a poet, as he knows no rest. For sleep does seldom ever come. To the one whose fingers are always numbed. And when his hands are old and tired The Lord then will give him his sleep For a job isn't finished until the Lord says so But then never again will He weep. And then my crown I will give to my son, So the dream of ours, will never be done. Randy L. McClave