The Poet cast aside his pen; his paper flung away.
No more he swore to versify forever and a day.
His epic, wrought in toil and tears, consigned he to the flames;
His nom-de-plume fore'er denied a place among the Names.
Where now is inspiration rapt? Where now can thought take wing?
O Muse, where is thy victory? O Critic, where thy sting?
Great poem, Alan. I loved it. (and could relate) : -) Thanks for sharing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice piece of poetry, well articulated and nicely penned with insight. A good poem indeed. Thanks for sharing. Please read my poem MANDELA - THE IMMORTAL ICON.