The Old Poet

The poets pen now lays unused on the desk

It’s ink has dried and no rhymes will it make

It dried the day the poet breathed no more

That day we felt as if our hearts would break

Pain in his fingers made it hard to hold the pen

Still he, with God’s help would struggle through

Words would come to him as if they were magic

There were times that he didn’t have even a clue

In his younger days words came so easy to him

Making then rhyme he knew was a gift from God

His work was finished and all his writings were over

That day we laid the poet under the Earth’s sod

We wonder if God will like the old poets work

When he writes his poetry up there in Heaven

On Earth he was sure that God gave the words

Or else not one of his poems would ever be done

copyright © 2017 By Acie