A Poem

How can you write a poem,
When none is on the lip.
And nectar in a pewtered-cup,
Is far below the sip.

How can sweet rhythm of a rhyme,
Bring forth a lovely thought.
When every metaphor is held,
And strangled by a blot.

When words can not be sounded,
And neither can be sung.
And gowdy little phrases,
Are twisted on the tongue.

When all your inward feelings,
Fits in just like a wedge.
And all your careless wording,
Has trimmings off the edge.

When every bit of humor,
Is shoveled by a dike.
And little bits of itsy-notes,
Rears up...to take a strike.

How can you write a poem
How can you even start.
There's only one way I can tell,
By turning to the heart.

E.P. 1908 - 1989