The Poet

The Poet

The poet sits in his chair all alone. All his friends have left and gone. He sits there, thinking about what went wrong. But he is very strong. He sits there every day, and the people walk by and go their own way. Why does he sit there anyway? The people won't say hi or stop by. They just go on their way. He writes poems that only he understands, and they will never be seen. Maybe it's all in his dream. There has to be a meaning. Then someday he will get a greeting. But he still sits there every day. I am hoping that just one will stay, which would make his day.