William E. Dickinson Poems

My easel is a word, a phrase
My pen is color blue
The brush applies a tinge, or accents
Beyond a portiere's, a clue A palate wide e're consummate
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A poets cast is beauty
This one-not of academic last
For shoe of life his leather
And the fit is in his past Yet! All poets honed, invested
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A poem is but a hint of
The soul and heart of man
Sketching the bare essentials
Yet, a glimpse, a grain of sand Picking out some basics
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