How can the merest mortals mend the world from all its ills, <br />when words are all the ammunition left, to pay the bills? <br />What kind of self-delusion does it take to make a Bard, <br />when Barred is more be-fitting as we play the drinker's card? <br />How many inspirations spiral up and down and through <br />the maelstroms of emotions separating us and you? <br />Is yours the doleful duty to disect and then display <br />the integral integrity of every mundane day? <br />But then you go and shock and awe the audience as one <br />by painting joyous masterpieces, perched upon a pun. <br />Showing us the way to say the things we only felt <br />by bottom dealing and revealing, the cards which we were dealt. <br />For every type and intent that may drive the poet's duty... <br />I toast you all who have the gall to bring us truth and beauty.<br /><br />Dan Reynolds<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-toast-to-poets-on-burns-night/
