If not all men are poets
Then certainly I have nothing to tell
And only if every man is a poet
Then I guess I’m begrudgingly one as well
I don’t have much to display
What can I share that is worth to say
With words I have a certain way
But I’m just the common man who goes about his day
But then again the common man
Is a man who has beliefs and life-plans
Who dreams dreams and whose being is deep
Who hopes hopes and sighs and weeps
So this utterly ordinary common man
Has streaks of an uncommon touch
When his heart thinks unplanned
Will say little but it can mean so much
So little, one wonder’s what’s his speech for
But a little attention and his words are worthy to adore
So little, yet you can see he means something more
That’s the common man, so little but a poet galore
So then I am a man who is a poet
Not because I am a poet
But because every man is a poet
And he doesn’t even know it