It's poetry that feeds the soul.
A poet fishes in the trees,
Though other fish may fill our bowl,
His silver minnows catch the breeze.

A poet fishes in the trees,
The words he uses take us where
His silver minnows catch the breeze
To banish all our thoughts of care.

The words he uses take us where
The phosphorescent sea sprites dance
To banish all our thoughts of care
On moonlit nights where lovers chance

The phosphorescent sea sprites' dance,
And we may feast on honeyed words
On moonlit nights where lovers chance
To sing their poems wild as birds.

And we may feast on honeyed words
That lift our hearts and make us wish
To sing their poems wild as birds.
Our fancy flies when leaves are fish

That lift our hearts and make us wish.
Though other fish may fill our bowl,
Our fancy flies when leaves are fish.
It's poetry that feeds the soul.