See the poet, celebrate with nature,
As he swims across one more river.
He dances with the sky and land,
In life's big poem, he is the giver.
And he smiles today, for all he gave,
For the world smiled as they took.
Oh, reading many a word sublime,
Lost in the poet's life's valued book.
Valued by the poet, more than all,
Each poem, a reflection on his self.
Beauty to the reader, source to him,
As he takes sorrows off his shelf.
Not just sorrows, but even joys,
Tears and laughter together equate.
Yet, life's unbalanced equations,
Dissolved in the songs, he will create.
He puts his life, on empty parchments,
With pen in hand, in mind, inspiration.
Decorating, the blank pulps of wood,
He now goes into a short celebration.
And yes, the poet will write on,
Though the pen's ink will one day dry.
Not an aim, just too many landmarks,
The poet and his song will never die.
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