Warrior poet
I heard the pipes, I heard the drums.
The first called me to be a poet, the second to be a warrior.
Can the same man carry a song and a battle cry?
Perhaps the bitterness of one makes the other so sweet?
I do not know, but their sounds cannot be ignored.
The calling is unmistaken.
The birds fly south, the salmon swim upstream.
I fight and I write.
I know it, but cannot explain.
Categories:
