Poet's Truth (Boris Shnaider)

[Verse 1] Once, I never wrote in verse or prose, Never believed in the writer’s grace. For poets don’t rest on royal thrones, But search for truth in endless chase. [Verse 2] A poet isn’t one who’s showered in gold, Who pens sweet words for fleeting gain, Adorned in wreaths, their tales sold, With hands unsoiled by labor’s strain. [Verse 3] Who can claim to be a poet here? My fingers bend in a quiet plea, And echoes spread, distant but clear, Like thunder rolling far at sea. [Verse 4] Guides and prophets, lighting the way, They sought to ignite the hearts of men. Their words weren’t cunningly woven to sway, Nor sweetened with flattery’s poisoned pen. [end]