No Crown Do I Hold Dear
Asking an artist to control their senses
is akin to instructing a lark not to sing.
A painter would refuse such pretenses
and a poet could never do such a thing.
Bind my hands but don’t empty my ink well.
Leave me a scrap of paper to write upon
for it is my compulsion to break any spell
that steals my thoughts at first light of dawn.
No crown of a kingdom would I hold dear,
and no scepter would fit better in my hand
than the pen I cherish and always keep near
to capture rhymes at my heart's command.
I must fly free when a poem is being born.
Uncaged to wander in meadows for hours,
to write sonnets about a rose and its thorn,
darkness of mourning and summer showers.
Each line I pen is a precious jewel, a rare gem
that no one else can ever claim as their treasure.
No velvet cloak will I wear, with an ermine hem.
My poems are pearls used to take my measure,
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2024
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