How not to be a poet

I don’t write poems.
Primroses and the sky
do the hard work.

I don’t need a silver pen,
but I treasure words like Spring
and I listen to the shy wren.

Then I sit under the Tree
that grows from light to light
and the bird tells me

how not to describe
how not to be a poet
just how to sing in tune.

© Frédéric Georges Martin