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When hungry for a meeting 
with the Muse,
did you ever think of
hacking down a reed,
and dipping it in ochre mixed with soot,
scratching it on parchment
skins of goat?
Poet, Pick up your pen!

Do you think your words
would then
be more profound,
if created with the tools
from hallowed ground?
Do you know the power
that flows within?
Poet, Pick up your pen!

Lead others on a path
they have not seen before,
What more could be the dream
of frozen child, of poet, and of sage,
What battles rage within
that turn you
from your destiny?
Poet, pick up your pen!

What treasure do you hold
in greater measure
than the gift bestowed,
apparently at birth,
What other use of time
could ever amplify
your final worth?

Poet, Pick up your pen!
The words will flow
with freedom in the end,
The soul will soar,
the mind transcend.
Poet, Pick up your pen!


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