And they answered; this one

Who is the greatest poet of them all

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