by Glen Martin Fitch
Dear priest and prophet, cantor of sweet time,
Grand dreamer of delicious lore and fame,
What e'er you viewed that spirit you became
To sing its joy and sorrow in rich rhyme.
And when the frenzy wrought a poem sublime
Each line reveals the soul you sought to claim.
But now unto Apollo songs you frame.
For us your hymn fell silent ere its prime.
But in the sacred bower of your mind,
Before the timeless font of pleasure-pain
Will you not say a prayer of soft design
To make his Muses mold me in your kind
And by your saintly chants have me ordained,
If unsung rhymes in Faerielande remain?
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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