To the poet in pain, in grief and in sorrow
To the poet that verses creates, with tears and quill
To the poet who writes, for the kids of tomorrow
To the poet who, with words, create love he will
To the poet who is honest, with himself and in paper
To the poet who strives onwards, albeit he is crying
To the poet who doesn’t feel the same, one minute later
To the poet who lives for this, and without it, he’s dying
To the poet who feels life goes by much too quick
To the poet unknown, merely writing as a hobby
To the poet without a pen, feels quickly homesick
To the poet in me, in you or in poor house-elf Dobby

To you, lovely creator of art in this world- without you, dear poet
Picasso wouldn’t paint, Mozart wouldn’t compose- trust me, they know it