THE POET’S HOPE
I am a poet, so you’ll have to pardon me
If I am prone to moods of vacancy—
Abstracted and dissociated while
I’m working, rhyme by rhyme, to reconcile
The sense that is emerging with the sound,
In hopes of singing something that’s profound.
It’s not enough simply to speak outright;
My message must be fashioned to delight
For only then will memory retain
What otherwise might vanish from the brain.
It is my foremost duty to beguile
Or, better yet enchant, with such a style
As guarantees that all posterity
Will cherish what I write delightedly.