Poa Tree Poems
MORNING HAS BROKEN
- by
FERDINAND
At eight o'clock I come downstairs To turn the monster on. Its keyboard lures my eager hands; All night I have foregone The dance of words, the special sounds That come with writing verse. Some say, my talent's poetry; I fear it is my curse! I write a line, the sound is fine And then another comes. The third line now suggests itself, But then my mind succumbs To chasing through the alphabet In quest of useful rhyme. My mind grows tense; where is the sense? No choice now seems sublime! The first draft spreads upon the screen, It is one sorry mess! It fails to say all I'd portray. It's bad! I must confess, But it will serve as skeleton On which new sounds are tried. I'll tweak the syntax, change the verbs, Till I am satisfied. And then I'll post the finished ode Upon the internet, And hope that someone there will read And find they can't forget The sounds, the words, the message clear; The impact of my song. And choose themselves to publish it. I sure hope I'm not wrong!