Every five years or so
since you were a boy,
a slender book of
maybe a dozen poems
gently human, like
a summer seashore
lapping at the heart,
leaving washed bright pebbles
like jewels
for each five years
a quiet poet, bright-eyed
with an inner smile
has walked around unnoticed
waiting for a poem to come to him
and yet
leaving the air around him clean
like a walk by the sea-shore
cleansed by the listening sight
of a world full of unwritten poems
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0120-a-tribute-to-james-p-poet/
