The poet knows.

The poet knows.

When the season´s change
how life will rearrange itself,
how living will renew.

When your attempts will prove fruitless
Where to pursue when you´re clueless.
To stay golden when you´re blue.

Oh the poet knows
How to dribble the world
how to count god´s pearls
like each dancing day´s twirl.

It is so.
the poet knows
often not how to react,
the words all disperse
while he remains gobsmacked.

The poet lifts his pen and writes on...
scribling and wanting the natural princess to arouse the senses
  like the spice of safron.