A Poem

O to write a poem,
My thoughts did slowly sink.
And to make my words involved,
I tried to think.

For long and running lines,
They each caught hold.
And to say it just that way,
I sure was very bold.

In beautiful phrases,
That moved like running milk.
It caught the edge in luster,
And shone in pinkish-silk.

So sweet is love,
On the end of a tongue.
To soak long in rhythm,
And then to be sung.

For a poem in its making,
I tried a good start.
As the middle-word measure,
Came straight from the heart.


E.P. 1908 - 1989