Poetry, well what to speak of it?

Is it the art of words or words of art?

When the poet, inspired, does his bit

And arranges into rhymes the chants of his heart

As the thoughts pour in like pleasant rain

Ideas meandering like flowing brooks

As a result of this labor, the world has gained

Just another poem to get us hooked

Scattered thoughts, gathered

To resemble something of a rhyme

Previously spasmodic and so slathered

Now resonating harmony in its prime