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The PoetsThere are many poets: One, born of earthly concerns, Juggling fashioned syllables To charm a world gallery. And one, heaven-free, Singing beyond the binding Preserve of common style And fancy attire. One who speaks in silent tears And deafening laughter. One who hears the whispers Between the lines. One who translates Into the language of the crowd. And one who writes The sweet-bitter lyric of life. One who looks to the past, Lost in time, dusting shelves. One who dreams the future, Where no-one has trodden, And the surface still shines. Still another, who carefully listens To the echoes of the now. Or, has there only ever been One true poet and versifiers many?
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