How often have I started out With no thought in my noodle, And wandered here and there about, Where fancy bade me toddle; Till feeling faunlike in my glee I`ve voiced some gay distiches, Returning joyfully to tea, A poem in my britches. A-squatting on a thymy slope With vast of sky about me, I`ve scribbled on an envelope The rhymes the hills would shout me; The couplets that the trees would call, The lays the breezes proffered . . . Oh no, I didn`t think at all - I took what Nature offered. For that`s the way you ought to write - Without a trace of trouble; Be super-charged with high delight And let the words out-bubble; Be voice of vale and wood and stream Without design or proem: Then rouse from out a golden dream To find you`ve made a poem. So I`ll go forth with mind a blank, And sea and sky will spell me; And lolling on a thymy bank I`ll take down what they tell me; As Mother Nature speaks to me Her words I`ll gaily docket, So I`ll come singing home to tea A poem in my pocket.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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