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Come in, for here you share my peace
For none who baulk me ever enter here.
'Tis where I am, where my thoughts release
All those things that make sweet life so dear.
Listen please, but offer not your view,
That irritates the concept of my words,
For what I say is not all that I do.
I fly, sometimes with clouds, sometimes with birds.
Judge not the man by all the words he writes
Nor by the content of his many books.
Judge him by the substance of his fights
And read the history in his wrinkled looks.
The words a poet writes are from a place
Where lives a spirit, still without a face.
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