Oh, how I love to write poems,
It's my favorite thing to do
Even though my words might stumble
And my rhymes may not ring true

With pen in hand, I pour my heart
Onto the page with great affection
Though critics say I'm not that smart
And my work deserves no attention

But still, I write with all my might
And try to craft a masterpiece
Even though it may not be quite right
And my verses may seem like a disease

For poetry is more than just words
It's a window into the soul
A way to express our deepest hurts
And make the broken pieces whole

Alas, I lived a poet's life
And penned my verses with great care
But in my time, no one took strife
To read my words or even share

My poems lay forgotten, lost
In boxes and in dusty shelves
No eyes to see, no minds to host
My words and stories to themselves

But then one day, after I'd gone
A curious soul came upon
My long-forgotten written tales
And read them through with eager wails

With tears in eyes and heart ablaze
They saw the beauty in my phrase
And recognized the love I'd poured
Into each line and every chord

My poems now, they're cherished dear
And read aloud for all to hear
A legacy of words I've left
That now, to many hearts, have wept

So though I died without acclaim
My poetry still plays the game
Of touching souls and moving hearts
A gift of love that never departs.
✍️IYANUOLUWA MIKE FOLORUNSHO