Sheds shackles and casts shadows tall
But does not overbear the learning ones
And false life livers he will shun
Who's fingertips radiate light of Suns
And feels their work has just begun
This great writer is not well known
Under bushes, trees, and branches has grown
Raised not by this world but the world by them
Their spine gives shape to every stem
By them the flowers grow and bloom
Their readers read and escape sure doom
Words may be sad but bring a smile
Cause tears to leave and so too guile
This word they make a better place
To the top five they do not race
Syncopated heart and pace
Each line permanent, do not erase
This writer is a quiet voice
Not excellent by mere choice
A gift is given every now and then
This gift is shown by ink and pen
