SONNET 501
By JH Sayyar
Angels uplift soul; ideas swim;
On the mind screen in shapes!
Hang on the brain; a poetic vim
All mature like ripened grapes1
Poets collect words for the rime
Sending a message to the mass!
Words perish never by fatal time
Shine ever; men come and pass
Green find words to make a verse;
Great invent great ideas for this
Angels’ job in a language terse
All green poets grand ideas miss
Poets write verses; angels’ signature
A few know whole world literature!
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