Models of Old

I nurse a dream of being a poet Writing like Frosts, Shakespeares and Poes Yet each glance at old works of poets Sees my tall dream standing on its toe Reading the lines so old and new I marvel at arts which sweet words paint How so subtle their sharp curves hue Fair etiquettes on a soulful chant I stand before the picture of my dream Watching its shadow meet the face of the sun With sparkles and glitters in streams Words of old have my dream reborn