by Glen Martin Fitch
Since seedling
I've been dreaming
on this shelf.
If only
myth might shower
on my head.
If only
I might stretch out
in a bed of writers,
scholars growing like myself.
What if my roots
had Latin, even Greek?
What if all day
my thoughts could see the sky,
my branches pruned
to please a critic's eye,
traditions trellis
lift when limbs grow weak?
No, I don't mind
my blossoms turning brown
But was I bred for this?
What I might write,
If I had inspiration,
shining light?
Will boredom dry my leaves
till I fall down?
If only someone
pluck and smell a word
I wish my fading colors
might be heard.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011