The Poet’s Patience
The poet is a patient man.
He has to be.
You see, the poet spends
all his days
trying to pick
the perfect thing to say
and, moreover, trying to
put it the perfect way;
yet, even after he’s long
gone and dead,
the poet tarries on.
He waits many generations,
scores if not hundreds of years, until
what he says and how he says it
burn into the soul of man.
Only then will he have
achieved his
fulfillment, but
for it, he will have
had to have
been patient,
which is why
the poet is
a patient man.
