Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.
Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.
The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.
Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.
...
I am not sure why you would want to be a CENTO poet. In some forms it is stealing others work but when a few lines from many works are strung together, It becomes a legal form of poetry. It takes talent to do it. But I ask you...Why? Obviously you have talent. What is the force that drives you to write this way. For those who do not understand this. In simple form it is. CENTO means to take lines from others work and make a poem from them. Hugs Jan