A fool wanted to murder a poet
for writing what he wanted quiet
He went to the village blacksmith
to buy a pistol to kill the wordsmith.
He bought the pistol, he shot the poet
and went home to a bottle of cold Moet
They buried the poet in his village
father, mother, friends…wept in rage
But even as his flesh lay in earth bed
his many verses were read and reread
And the fool wondered to his angry self
how can I take a poet from history’s shelf?