love poem

Why do young modern poets

Play with my ever fragile mind

;For is it not until you die,

That I should read your latest rhyme?

And why do you place in question

All that I at present believe?

If not to lead me yet further

Into doubt and uncertainty?

I, like so many before me,

Am never to decode your lines,

For anonymity is yours:

In ink and paper you do hide!

Often I think of those great men

Who in ancient times gave such grace

To this practice we now despise,

And in earnest try to erase

.But all who think would surely know

That unlike the monuments of time,

The poet's words are strangely sent;

They immortalize and never die!

So this final tribute is made

To all the Great Ones of our past;

In so doing is homage paid,

To all rhymes from first to last.