The Poet and Seer

The poet is a seer, he sees

      What others do not see;

The future is an open book

      To such a one as he.

He sees beyond the inky night,

      Beyond the twinkling stars;

The mysteries of all the spheres

      To him let down their bars.

What joy to be a poet then,

      To see the great unseen;

To hear the voices of the night

      Tell softly where they’ve been.

What joy to talk with moon and star,

      Then seize the waiting pen

And pour one’s soul out through the ink

      To stir the hearts of men!

The blacksmith and the plumber see

      Not what the poet sees;

Except when it is transcribed

      In classic lines like these.

The poet sees the great unseen,

      But misses food and cash;

The blacksmith and the plumber see

      The money and the hash.

Aug. 31, ‘09