The Poet

Once I sat down and told myself,
‘Just write what comes. Don't make it happen -
let it.’
The Awen is meant to be breath
or flow,
couldn't I let it breathe through me?
Couldn't I let it flow through my pen?

I went out to check the traps of my imagination-garden,
To see what had caught there lately.
I wrote about checking the traps.
And in one of them was a leopard,
so I wrote about the leopard.
And the leopard was black with soot,
so I wrote that it was black with soot,
And he asked me to brush him,
so I wrote about brushing him.

I just did as I was told.
I just watched.

Who put the leopard there?

I wrote it.
Who was the poet?


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