A poet for me is like a ripe fruit
Pungent and at times rancid
His core, a sweet breadfruit
You want to break open avid.
Taste the world he has in store
He is the queen in a chess game
Protecting a king of yore!
His moves are swift, self-same.
He too would relinquish honour
Fame if, it served a better purpose
He doesn't care about his demeanour.
About pawns, all that matters,
Is the real meaning, behind the prose?
Mark Heathcote
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poets-and-kings-of-yore/
