Glen Martin Fitch
I've been dreaming
on this shelf.
myth might shower
on my head.
I might stretch out
in a bed of writers,
scholars growing like myself.
What if my roots
had Latin, even Greek?
What if all day
my thoughts could see the sky,
my branches pruned
to please a critic's eye,
lift when limbs grow weak?
No, I don't mind
my blossoms turning brown
But was I bred for this?
What I might write,
if I had inspiration,
Will boredom dry my leaves
till I fall down?
If only someone
pluck and smell a word
I wish my fading colors
might be heard.
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Comments about this poem (POTTED by Glen Martin Fitch )
- A ship, hasmukh amathalal
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- Run, run, run and running, gajanan mishra
- Run, run, run, gajanan mishra
- What About Tomorrow, Claude H Oliver II
- My Time, Claude H Oliver II
- The ball, gajanan mishra
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