Writing without reservations ...
I've read the works of mighty hands,
whose feast I stand before;
and ask them for a place to land,
quoth Raven: nevermore.
I tell them all how marveled they
this man, from just a child;
and ask them if there's any way
I'd sup with Oscar Wilde.
The bounty rich and well-deserved,
I'd write verse for a scrap;
and if they had no seat reserved
I'd sit on Chaucer's lap.
I'd write for simply writing's sake,
and hope the words would fill
this hunger makes my belly ache,
to be a Bard like Bill.
As poetry sustained this lad,
when sustenance he craved;
made me the Muse Lord Byron bade
farewell, and my soul saved.
And so I sit here writing still,
My pen shall give no peace;
until the day these revelers will
that I may join their feast.
©2011 R.J. Gardner - All Rights Reserved