And the poet died....

The glowing moonlight

Had barely kissed the high tide

When he took his last breath

And the poet died



A poem left incomplete

A pen, with the ink dried

It was only expected

The poet would have died



They all came there

From far and wide

To grieve over their friend

The poet who had died



Aggrieved and amused

They sat beside

They knew they were the reason

That the poet had died



The winds still blew

And the bells chimed

The poem was alive

But the poet had died



And as the glowing moonlight

Bent again to kiss the rising tide

They looked up and wondered

Had the poet died?