If I had wings and poet’s skill,
my muse at hand and time to kill,
I’d scribe for you such noble verses
about the beauty Nature nurses
inside a bud, on bough with leaf,
where wonder is the main motif.
I’d take my pen, like Bard with quill,
pour forth a stream, sublime and still.
Place pleasant poem on the pages,
a song of love that never ages,
like sun and moon and starry host,
or sea that creeps along the coast.
If words would gleam like dew at dawn,
lay down like jewels on leafy lawn.
I’d sparkle with the muse’s magic,
rewrite those rhymes of truth so tragic.
Have Hector and Achilles yield,
bid both lay down their sword and shield.
I\'d teach the truth to hearts that burn
for wars to cease and tides to turn.
Love-laden lines composed with tears
of grief. In hope that golden years
will dawn when darkness fades and dies
beneath these savage sapphire skies.
If I composed like kindly Keats,
wrote rhymes where earth and heaven meets.
My poems would be less pedantic;
they’d bloom like rustic rose, romantic.
Then I would be a poet true,
and I would touch the heart of you!