It might please you for me to sing of Gallant deeds,
And the heart of Warriors brave,
Heroic tales of those who lead,
Of those who fight, of those you save,

Or I might sing a romantic ballad for the sake of pleasure to your ears,
Songs of long lost lovers reuniting, songs of loving prayers,
Hearts wedding, lovers bedding, won't it cause you joy to hear,

Or better still I might write of the darkest sins,
Tales of haunted nights and spooky grins,
You might still like my scary tales,
Of tears falling, screams and wails,

Or should I write of brighter days,
Of flowers blooming under a golden haze,
You might love to hear of roses and light,
Of all the world's magnificent sights,

Should I write and sing of all these side by side,
Truly, in doing so I shall take pride,
Though it would bring me immense pleasure but still,
I will write of all that fills,
My heart my mind, My soul,
How simple letters take on a crucial role,
How I mould each word to fit a song,
How I blend a thousand notes for you to sing along,
I will sing of all the things above, of love, of war, of strife,
But first I shall tell you how the miracle of poetry comes to life....