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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

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