To Apollo

Fair Apollo, may I borrow your golden lyre So I might strum a heavenly chord full of fire Else, let me pluck a laurel from your grove Towards greatness, ever I strove But alas my fingers are not nimble and quick My wire sung words sting and stick O Apollo were I as fair as the tree Perhaps with second sight I could see Fair Apollo lend me a voice as sweet and rich A harpy in church, I rasp and –***** I’ll drown in myself if I not throw it out soon I’m hopelessly blocked And Half cocked at noon Fair Apollo, may I borrow your golden lyre So I might strum a heavenly chord full of fire Else, take me under your bright wing With your guidance, let this Philomel sing