When life unfurls its vast and vibrant scroll,
A poet finds their ink in every breath,
Each joy, each pang, enlivens heart and soul,
A tapestry of birth, of love, of death.

The sunrise spills its gold on waking eyes,
The storm’s wild howl sings chaos into verse,
In laughter’s lilt, in tears that softly rise,
The muse of being shapes what lines express.

No barren page confines their boundless art,
For every street, each face, becomes their quire,
The world’s own pulse beats rhythm to their heart,
Its fleeting hues their endless, fierce desire.

So here, where life and lyric intertwine,
The poet’s joy is boundless, pure, divine.