There are two poems I've yet to write <br />Two thoughts I've yet to capture <br />Two leafs of paper I've yet to use, <br />to write on, to speak to, to have yield <br /> <br />The thoughts yield to my mind; <br />my hand to the thoughts, pen to hand; <br />The pen ever so gracefully glides, <br />the words so gently move, ne'er collide <br /> <br />But there are two poems I've yet to write <br />Wherefore I cannot capture them, I do not know <br />I try and try, yet whither they go, <br />they escape the light <br /> <br />If once perhaps I caught them, <br />and put them into words, <br />I should pet them calmly <br />let them know I dare not lose them <br />(For they go where they might) <br /> <br />and if my mind had sent them to my hand <br />my hand would ever yield, <br />for my hand is the hand of a willful doer <br />ever taking field <br /> <br />and if my hand could mold the pen <br />and the pen mold the words, <br />I should hope that my mind had not forgot <br />to put them into verse! <br /> <br />However my mind had forgotten <br />to mold them into verse, <br />to sing them carefully to my heart <br />so as to better coerce the words <br /> <br />I would have rather have blurted <br />all the words out <br />than to have ever thought to rehearse <br />which might not have been worse <br /> <br />After all of this, hoping to recoup, <br />I've still two poems to write, <br />to handle my pen, to yield to my heart. <br />When, ever so stately, has a person's poem fallen apart?<br /><br />Annie Cordelia Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/two-poems-i-ve-yet-to-write/
