All the wishfuls desperately cry:
“Muse! Muse! O Muse! ”
But where is the muse
To enthuse
Them?
All the hopefuls wretchedly cry:
“Shakspere! Shakspere! ”
But no Bard here
To Hear
Them.
All the amateurs wrenchingly cry:
“Gods! Gods! Gods that be! ”
But no gods see
(If they be)
Them.
All the aspirants wistfully cry:
“Anything – from anyone! ”
And behold: things come.
But when done,
They die.
(no. I do not use drugs.)
If the aspirants expire And the amateurs atherise And the hopefuls are all Bar’d Then it’s my Muse that uses I.
Ah, another astounding piece by Ms. White! I do believe this is officially on my favorite list, simply because of the third stanza. Keep up the great writing!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
(no! ! ! i do not mis-use drugs) i guess i'm an amatuer.