Memo To a Young Poet

Then thinkst thou child that greatness is thy fate, Because a father fond admired thy verse, And friends, not wishing to offend, high rate, The paltry lines thou wouldst call poetry ? To play with words, to mould them in a shape That conjures deep-felt stirrings in the soul, That lets the mind, besieged by toil. escape Its bonds - that is the role of poesy. Let thoughts take flight, discover hidden truth, Allow the spirit to transcend its very self. Make these your lofty aims, then tender youth No bar will be to telling through your words What's in your heart. Let not the moments pass Lest they be ever lost, but heed the muse, Ever at your side, as is the hourglass, Trickling time, a precious constant warning. Seize the Spring and revel in its promise And greet with hope the light of each new dawning. Life's darkling moments are yet tinged with gold. Let not a sorrow your deep thoughts imprison. A poet will all human life enfold, Both sun and shade, encompassed by his vision.