Hear ye! Hear ye! Listen to the weaver of poetic art,
Whose words paint visions, reaching deep into the heart.
As nightfall blankets all, he plays his mesmerizing part,
Entwining souls with tales, an eternal work of literary art.
The wordsmith smelts words into silent songs, ensnares the night;
Narrating tales of soil, blood, and love igniting light.
The sorcerer of stories weaves the threads of life's strife;
As owls and cuckoos lament, their melodies a mournful knife
With eloquence, he conjures realms beyond sight,
Unleashing imaginations, taking flight in sheer delight.
His verses dance, entwining truth with fiction's might,
Weaving a tapestry of emotions, vibrant and ever-bright.
His words, like a meandering river, cast a captivating spell,
Enchanting hearts, and souls in a melodic swell.
With every syllable, he weaves a mesmerizing tale,
As moonlight weeps and stars in awe compel.
The night surrenders to his tales, captivated and still,
The moon hangs low, listening with a tranquil thrill.
Echoes of his verses resound, a symphony so surreal,
The world held breathless, caught within his storytelling skill.
Behold the master, the weaver of poetic art,
Whose words paint visions, reaching deep into the heart.
As nightfall blankets all, he plays his mesmerizing part,
Entwining souls with tales, an eternal work of literary art.
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