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.

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