Poets' Land
Once I would sit with pen in hand
and set aside a little time.
Then send my thoughts to poets' land,
to conjure up a pleasant rhyme.
Was that the poets' Muse I'd hear
As words would form upon my page?
Need I but write her message clear
to free my visions from their cage?
Such marvels would my mind display;
if I could capture but a few!
Yet when my words before me lay,
they did not hold that wondrous view.
So hard I'd strive to grasp a dream,
my words could not embrace,
that all enjoyment it would seem
was lost in fruitless chase.
So now I sit with empty hand
and seek no more that perfect rhyme.
But send my thoughts to poets' land
just to spend some pleasant time.
by MaXiM