The Poem which Longs to be Written

Grantly Read Marshall

I search for the poem which longs to be written,
the ripe hanging apples which beg to be bitten,
the pregnant expressions which hang in the air,
in need of protection; the cub and the bear.

I search for the words who crave me as their father,
my pen must move fast or there's no need to bother,
Great Nature has laws when to run, when to fight,
there can be no tomorrow, tonight is the night!

I search for the keys of the ladder of heaven,
lady luck rolls the dice and my number is seven,
the door stands ajar I must enter the house,
seize the bull by the horns, and not flee like a mouse.

I know there's no answers, but questions unending,
but if I stop asking, the Gods will stop sending,
I'll sink in depression, grow bitter with scorn,
as my powers to create become worm-eaten corn!