Frosty Muse Poem by John Allen Richter
Frosty Muse
I often felt that Robert Frost -
was in my own inflamed heart -
For when all else seemed harringly lost -
my pen had no trouble to start…
And when I oft did wonder aloud
if his spirit was slinking around -
the words simply came - proper and proud
as if he were I - pound for pound.
And thought I should test this wise -
to prove it bullduggery or not…
I sat at a table three times the size
with nere miniature pen to blot!
And what upon my parchment wrought -
these magical words appeared -
''tis just you, you flaming idiot! '
and to myself I've come so endeared…
Indeed food for thought there John: How often on my feet of scorn. That poem entitled O Night was born in just such a moment as you describe. When waking in the wee small hours to find poetry pouring out of 'I know not where'. Your description of a poet's dilemma, has often intrigued me. A little deliberation usually convinces me that the work is indeed my own. Read mine - Spring - Adeline
Wonderfully penned Forestry muse. Words simply come properly in own way. Nice sharing with new vision.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 10:58:16 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Sometimes words flow instantly. Enjoy.