You Know What I Mean
I wish I could write beautiful thingsAnd make my languid letters sing;
And build a great mountain of sense with my words;
And feeling and passion and genius distill.
Truth and beauty don't mesh well with bytes and mediocrity,
Which no real poetry can bear.
And yet,
One day my muse may stop sending love letters
And actually pay me a visit.
A sweet one?
A long one?
Maybe one day I will stop being afraid
Of what I write.
In the meanwhile,
There's way too much fruit on old trees
To fret about agriculture.
posted by ertandberni @ 10:32 PM
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