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 )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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