Do tarry a while.

The importance of poets.

Do tarry a while.


Set aside the TV, the car, the computer,
come drift through time with me for a while.

Back to when the poet was literary King,
the rock star of his day.
When toil’s end might be spent by the fireside,
peacefully reading the evenings away.

To when words would sing without melody.
Like the rhythm of horses in flight.
When the wordsmith’s tales,
would fill the mind late into the night.

Imagine a parlour with leaded glass windows,
a dog curled up by your feet.
A treasured book, a fireside,
a comfortable old leather seat.

A glass of wine, tobacco smoke,
pile of books, some still unread.
Eyes gently lifting words from page,
as Tennyson's light brigade charge through your head.

Or picture yourself a canny old Scot,
passing hard-earned frei time.
Reading Robbie Burns words,
by the candlelight,
in the days of Auld Lang Syne.

Warm in your bothy, whiskey in hand,
wyfe calls, “your mutton’s ready jock.”
The poet’s words having captured your mind,
“ah just cannae set doon the beuk.”

Do tarry a while with these souls.
Find the poet knights stood still.
Perhaps they’ve not yet begun to fight,
their swords a feathered quill.