The Sounds Poets Make

What din you seem to muster low within
When poets write, their sense of love is deep
Do you hear all the ways they talk and weep?
And think in scattered rhymes; love's hard to win
Should not all of that wailing be a sin?
Why feed your heart with the noise poets reap?
Understand a swift dream is very cheap
And sweet words like a galze are very thin

How much deeper are the deeds of the heart
When effort is stirred by words from the start
This one poet cares not for words alone
If they cause a clamor and nothing more
For I am a writer of flesh and bone
And efforts of love is what I implore

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