A poet of verse, or a poet of life,
To be lyrical always, would be oh so nice.
A life full of rhythm, with reason and rhyme,
To dance in sync with others, is a feeling sublime.
To feel and be felt, is no small art,
To make room in heart, requires special craft.
Words on paper, can inspire for years,
A life lived well, can pierce deep my dears.
Money could be earned, by writing prose,
By selling bulky books- which you read till you doze.
Life itself, can become boring and long,
The prosaic bits, eclipsing the poetical song.
If the world must remember, let it be my poetical style,
Not my collection of sonnets, by my life without guile.
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