‘”All the words that I utter, And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night, Beyond where the waters are moving, Storm-darken’d or starry bright.”

Thank you Ilana for the poem by McNeice, then poetry was an art form, a creation to inspire, be praised, read, recited.
Where are the true poets of today, lost in the:-“Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world”-WB.Yeats’ prophetic poem: The Second Coming.