A Poet Never Dies Poem by Tony Adah

Time passes and the poet lives on
Upon the crusty back of the earth
He writes his names upon the rocks
Of the mountains and the bark of great trees

His art may burn his fingers
In the truth revealed of his trade
Still he writes his name
In the clouds where he trailed
With his wings of strength and wisdom.

He may write and stock in a box
A long abandoned piece that's is dusted
And upon which his name appears in gold
A poet lives at all times
Even if the roaches devour
The chests of his cupboard
His work is everywhere in the world.