If you lock a poet
in a box
He'll write of isolation.
If you take away his
favorite pen,
The verse will be frustration.
Take his love?
He'll write of pain.
Give her back?
A much sweeter refrain.
You might put him high up
on a ledge,
But then we'd hear of
heights and fright.
Or maybe lock him out
in the dark,
Only to have him speak of
starlight at night.
Can you halt a poet's words?
I rack my brain to think.
We might sometimes receive a pause
When he runs out of ink.
So, let us not always
a poet shun
Because of differing taste
For after all his rhymes, his sonnets and limericks,
A poet is
An awful thing to waste.
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