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On Days...

 

On days when I am in a daze,

In sullen mood I sit and think

And gaze upon the paper and the ink

Or stare beguiled and wonder if

I filed the nib enough and is it stiff?

Or should I pour another drink?

 

I gather rose-buds while I may

On days when I am in a daze,

And wonder when I’ll reach a phase

Of cool uncertainty, in such a way

As I won’t be concerned, and happily

Rest upon the lessons learned?

 

In night time splendour I withdraw,

I turn the key and lock the door,

On days when I am in a daze.

In sublime moods and inspirations I retire,

Examining the virtue of each metered rhyme

And quietly being so amused, I gaze....

 

But that’s the worth of poetry!

Selecting and the patterning of words

In some sequential symmetry;

On days when I am in a daze

I gather rose-buds while I may

And smell them in a silent way.

 

For who can say with cool conviction

What a poet or a poems’ worth?

And if the metre or encryption

Is more than just a million miles away?

On days when I am in a daze

My muse portrays a solemn gaze...

 

So I am ill-disposed to while or stray

Or softly still your aching ears

With all this mellow, mystic poesy

And drown you with my poet’s tears,

Or share my lover’s pains in sad essay;

On days when I am in a daze,

I’m in some kind of ecstasy....

 

◄ The Caryatids

Disenchantment ►

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