A poet's ilk cannot be wrong
when putting heartfelt dreams to song
or finding out where we belong
by channelling our muse's throng.
If poetry is but a slice
of all our joys and ev'ry vice
then let this verse connect your soul
to anything that makes you whole;
a pie we sup to nourish hope,
the pastry formed from words and shape,
the filling wrought from our escape,
an optimistic feast to cope.
Unfiltered love is all we need
to lift ourselves upon a palm,
to breathe away the fearful creed
and write our way unto a balm.
A poet's ilk cannot be wrong
if poetry is but a slice -
a pie we sup to nourish hope.
Unfiltered love is all we need.
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