John Thorkild Ellison

(17/04/51 / Edinburgh)

Poemhunters' Song (to a popular hymn tune)


We write our books and scatter
Our poems all around,
And they are read and criticized
By Keats and Ezra Pound.

Each little rhyme we utter,
Each little verse we write
Won't earn us bread and butter
Or shelter for the night.

And yet we go on trying
To make ourselves a name,
We'd really like the glory,
The praise and endless fame.

And so we write a poem
(We like its sense and sound) ,
But does it really satisfy
John Keats or Ezra Pound?

It doesn't really matter
If what we write is good,
We may not be like Milton
But we would be if we could!

Submitted: Sunday, March 01, 2009
Edited: Monday, September 05, 2011

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