The poet in us lives only once.
He springs from love, from pain.
When both are gone the poet moves on.
And the philosopher takes his place.
He writes the words of understanding,
The thoughts tying up lose ends.
He knows that life is beyond his control,
And to accept what fate decrees.
Deep inside the poet's heart is still.
His dreamy eyes are put to rest.
But the philosopher smiles and says all is well.
In a world beyond his control.