Two Poems I'Ve Yet To Write Poem by Annie Cordelia Adams

There are two poems I've yet to write
Two thoughts I've yet to capture
Two leafs of paper I've yet to use,
to write on, to speak to, to have yield

The thoughts yield to my mind;
my hand to the thoughts, pen to hand;
The pen ever so gracefully glides,
the words so gently move, ne'er collide

But there are two poems I've yet to write
Wherefore I cannot capture them, I do not know
I try and try, yet whither they go,
they escape the light

If once perhaps I caught them,
and put them into words,
I should pet them calmly
let them know I dare not lose them
(For they go where they might)

and if my mind had sent them to my hand
my hand would ever yield,
for my hand is the hand of a willful doer
ever taking field

and if my hand could mold the pen
and the pen mold the words,
I should hope that my mind had not forgot
to put them into verse!

However my mind had forgotten
to mold them into verse,
to sing them carefully to my heart
so as to better coerce the words

I would have rather have blurted
all the words out
than to have ever thought to rehearse
which might not have been worse

After all of this, hoping to recoup,
I've still two poems to write,
to handle my pen, to yield to my heart.
When, ever so stately, has a person's poem fallen apart?