Dead Poet's Corner

He was not aware when the Calamity struck,
When the tide turned ,to leave him a wreck.
Knew not wot evil or sin he had committeth..
For People to say"Look at him not,the blasphemer cometh"

The sun was still the same and didnt follow a diff route,
The horses still watered in the river running thru.
Everything was still the same , but then he knew it was not,
Was high up in a pedestal once and suddenly he was nought.

Stares went through him as if through cold thin air
Leaving him wanting and wailing in utter despair.
Heads turned away when he walked by without a grin,
He knew he couldnt live like this at everybody's chagrin.

They had once incanted , all to one , one to all:
"Here comes the wise one , he has such a way with words,
The sun never sets here without listening to his lucid prose.
With a word-sieve in all your hands and glasses on your face
Never could you see in his prose ,a word that was out of place."

The crown had never been heavy, so easy was it all these years,
Thence he wanted to show them something very new to their ears.
He put one here and put one there and made them end the same,
Knew not where his footing, but he dared just the same.

Went up to them with his scribblings ,after practising till noon,
And recited it without fear, setting it to a nice little tune.
Rest as they say is history..and the story ends here,
He is still seen sometimes crying in the Dead poet's corner
of the land where music never had and still has no ears.