Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.” I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”
There was a guest lecturer once. I do not remember whom nor where nor when nor on what subject, but I do remember one question he asked us. “On you way to class, how many leaves did you actually see?” We had all passed a profusion of them in all their autumn glory, but no one could recall a single one.
This poem did not flow from that lecture, which I believe was from a much later date, but from a particular finely veined maple leaf whose memory would make me think the lecturer had asked a very good question.
TO A LEAF
I’ll press you now in this great book
And then, years later, I will look
At your color and design
Preserved in such a fragile form!
And still with power my heart to warm
And prod my weary mind
To think of Him who made you
And your kind.
Remember: for more poetry like this, go to https://www.createspace.com/3562314 and order Stars Through the Clouds!
Donald T. Williams, PhD