Truly, when I look towards
What future days may hold
I worry, as Keats once did,
That I may never put my
Heart, soul, mind,
To the page as I desire.
I long to express
In a most marvelous way,
(Having great passion for my craft
And dreading what has become
Of the most noble of arts
In recent days)
That which all men feel
But few can say.