The poets among us are so far from sane
and the time that they take for one word is a shame.
They fret and they ponder, they weep and they whine
for what might become one poor iambic line.
The authors among us are better perhaps;
they dump fifteen pages at once in our laps.
But still when a poet goes through authors’ words
they nix the majority, seeing absurd
or unneeded the adjectives weighing ten tons,
so maybe the poets are truly the ones
I’ll take as my friends; they are few I am told,
but the worth of one poet’s word surely is gold.