Who has time for poetry? When wars rage on, toward destiny. No time to pause, for subtlety. Or clever words, in melody.
Why slow and think, of gentle things? When there are conquerings, and rising kings. The leaf, a bird, issues of the heart. They slow the rage, and take apart, the desires, the lusts, the wanting more, of material things, to own and store.
Who needs reminding, they are a soul. A spirit, that love can control.
Who needs to think in poetry? Only those, like you and me.