At poets’ bier will silence rest,
with lost creative flair and jest
that sparked our thought; and tho the dead
remain in text, not fully fled
their verve in life was surely best.
We struggle on, our joy depressed
our loss reluctant, acquiesced
sad minds reviewing notes unread
At poets’ bier.
Write on. Our faith was well professed
by they who died. Their glee addressed
the joy we lack; by grief misled,
too quick we bind to teary thread.
We’ll soar, as they did, life to wrest
from poets’ bier.