Inkdrops, Falling Poem by Evangeline Ingram

I sit at desk, dip pen to ink,
And once again attempt
To lay bare some hidden thing
I know not how to say.

Yet years ago, a poet,
Blake or Yeats or Shelley,
Dickinson, Frost, Milay,
Gaiman, Whitman, Plath,
Neruda, Cummings, Keats,
Ginsberg, Tennyson, Wilde,
Byron, Eliot, Burns,
Even Shel Silverstein -

Set down that very selfsame thought.
And now I am caught,
Aching to speak,
Knowing I cannot,
An echo of a better word.