If I own any genius heaven blessed
That I have left neglected, unexpressed,
I owe it to the Source from whom it comes,
Whose gifts to me deserve encomiums.
It’s my bound duty to the world to use
Those skills and talents tendered by my Muse
For singing an enchanting melody
And opening your ears to mystery.
When stuffy reason stifles rhyme’s delight,
Let heads capitulate to heart’s insight,
Since there’s more than your intellect can know,
Whose light obscures your spirit’s subtler glow.
The mystery of rhythm and of rhyme
Is how they waken you to the sublime.