The quiet thought

As I am writing in my chair

A quiet thought arrives:

Why do I write? How do I dare

To presume to change lives?


Why should I for a moment think

That which I’ve said’s profound?

That all will still my poems drink

When I am in the ground?


This tort’rous thought traps me in webs

Of which I can’t escape

While fleeting inspiration ebbs;

In doubt I myself drape.

Lost in Translation

When heav’nly song does ring upon
A poet’s lonely ear
The difficulty’s translating
What earthly methods hear

For ever song has come on high
From heaven’s very light
But little was it listened to
‘Til man gained deeper sight

It touches all, but some hear not
The cooing reds and blues
From skies of morning, day, and night
In all their heav’nly hues

Translating words from stars and sun
We’ll oft have a mistake
So all we can give is the best
Our simple minds can make