The passionate poet sat in his study dark
Deaf to the sounds of the lilting notes of the lark.
With a DO NOT DISTURB board he sat
Outside, the lark sang and sang with a passion intense
“Do not disturb me”, the poet said, trying to drill sense
Into the lark, serenading nature with his happy song.
“Let me script a song of peace”, pleaded he in a voice strong
Drawing the curtains tight.
The poet sat hunched
Pouring words on paper
Outside his study
The slow, cadences of the lark
Soon became a soothing storm
Enough to turn a cynic into a die-hard romantic.
The lark was euphoric
That his song had sublimated
Ardour increased, Forehead creased
The poet poured peace on pieces of paper
Outside his curtained study , the lark sang on