The Poet Poem by Catherine Habbie

A poet has an arsenal of words
He shoots them one by one
He waits not for a licence
Nor is he blinded by the sun
He should be praised for common sense
Instead he gets a crown of shards

He tarries with the Muse
And competes with the bard
He dare not waste a moment
Lest he lose his guard
The days become a torment
And nights are filled with blues

He cannot even notice
The sky in different hues
He is close to hypnosis
Is captivated by the dew
And never would this he rue
For tis ever a life he would choose