A Poet is an Ologist

 A Poet is an Ologist

A poet is an ologist.

Not a meteorologist, though his words can illuminate the dark like the brilliance of the sun,

Or release the tears of the burdened soul like a downpour of rain.

Not a neurologist, though her words can strike a nerve.

Not a cardiologist, though their words can help mend a broken heart.

Perhaps, a momentologist, who hears the voices of the river, sees the colors of the wind, tastes the moon, or touches the heart of man.

So maybe a poet is a meta-ologist, one who transcends the moment, divining its essence, by

transforming it metaphorically.

So much for heady analysis. Old Solius is showing his shining face through the maple. Time to start my day.