Where does the poet turn
when the words cannot be found
who will see him
through quiet nights
and solemn days
as he fumbles in thought
at a scene already written
an emotion already spent
the frightening possibility
that his dreams have all been dreamed
his nightmares all survived
the poet's eye if narrowed
is blind

a cold wind turns the corner
as he makes his way
to the nearby park
with pencil and pad
he will gaze in infinite wonder
the children at play
the Sun on the bay
and he will wish he could live
the words once again