I think this describes what poetry is all about, don't you?

Light came from the east" he sang,
"Bright guarantee of God, and the waves went quiet.
I could see headlands and buffeted cliffs.
Often for marked courage, fate spares the man
It has not marked already."

And when their objection was reported to him-
That he had gone to bits and was leaving them
Nothing to hold on to, his first and last lines
Neither here nor there-
"Since when," he asked,
"Are the first line and last line of any poem
where the poem begins and ends?"
 
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