Don't ask the poet about metaphors
What came by August night
Don't ask the poet all word
When words wear patterns
full of mysterious signs
He's always like that.
He doesn't know everything.
I'm certain he'll hear it.
What's in music without notes
Or in silent singing
stuffed birds
Sonnets make him rain
Though it is no miracle
He can breathe without oxygen.
Because he's always in quotes.
Ask the poet present if you can hear
Something in silence
I'm certain he'll answer you.
and whispers onomatopeia
Thank the poet for the conversation.
When he arranges the colorful stanzas
And in the soul cantata praiseful game
As long as he lives and lasts
Love religion and Hope
I'll save all poem he has.
