The poets of old are of an inspiration to me,
for they show me,
what with hard work,
what I could be.
I have a longing to be a poet,
a burning in my soul,
though I know I have a long way to go.
I wish to be as one that which in coming to a fork,
takes the road less traveled,
such as Robert Frost.
Or,
to lay mine works down by those written by the poets of The Lost,
Generation.
What if I were to write the next Star-Spangled Banner?
Yet even if I did I fear ought no one would know.
I would lay down mine all,
to write a page in history,
even if it be in mine own life's blood.
I could be called The Bloody Poet,
and sound very English through it all.
I will be a poet in mine own mind,
until mine hand does fall.
Though true I have not the castles of Europe to guide mine hand,
nor Bread and Cheese or Knickerbockers.
What I have is an empty page,
to fill up with mine own thoughts.
