To Ask My Mentor, Will I, Sir Will I, Ever a Great Poet Be

[SIZE=5][B]To Ask My Mentor, Will I, Sir Will I, Ever A Great Poet Be[/B][/SIZE] So like a eighteenth-century painting, her almond face this year's flowing sky and sun flashings paler by the day ghostly marble and statues grinning at a slow dying dawn and my sad heart grieving for that which nothing can replace as the moon ran away and the forest turned dark grey. There in the lonesome shadow, a statue of Master Poe his stern face, almost questioning my old poetic soul have you your poet's heart gifted to the old God of verse then I could his voice hear saying, a golden coin for the toll and from the far crowded distance, a goddess rehearsed. She of grand beauty, her eyes a cool-thrown Chimera bright Saw my shudder and cried, be not thee afraid young man I am but wandering child of winter's cold and frigid breath I come here with the fleeting edge of dark night my new plan And prepare those dying of the dragon's most horrid hot death. It was then she cried and darkness fell deeper than a flock of crows Poe said, young man be thee stout as a true hero not afraid The goddess is master of higher emerald cast poetic verse I stay to speak directly into the young and clear poetic souls Touch my head, drain essence of the long lost poets and feel. Dawn cast new light and the alarm rang so damn loud I woke quite suddenly and saw as my first new glance Master Poe in the far corner vanishing in a quick blink It was then I thought, damn that was my only chance To ask my mentor, will I, sir will I, ever a great poet be? [SIZE=4][B]Robert J. Lindley, Verse Dec 7th , 1972[/B][/SIZE]