Trammeled Poem by Hannington Mumo

A fleeting eternity's lapse wouldn't the least suffice
For the thoughtful versifier to ink his finest rhyme,
And not twice as long a shortened sun-dial's guise
Might immune his quill from this deathless crime.

Yet despite foul chronometers' encumbering knolls
Ardent spite, the embattled scribe's best endeavor
Shall still find a warm abode in some kindlier souls
And thus be barely short-solaced by the motley favor.

Still, were all the oceans' liquid worth a ceaseless supply
Of exhaustless color, and each blade of grass his quill,
Ages' envy wouldn't let the parchment motionless lie
Lest the deft pen its folds unwarp, its feeble fibs pin still.

Mere guessing triers remain even Nature's ablest talent;
Otherwise sterling bards cool masters of their noble craft.
Could but Muse's finest its fairest shots roll rather unbent
Our cosmos would fare too small, without any minion daft.