Learning the Art of Writing Poetry
By Feeling
Sorry for Yourself and
Sitting
all Alone in the Student Café,
Alfred
University, 1959
Many years ago, when I would sit alone,
sip tea or cocoa in the corner of the room,
when outside rain and sleet, when wind would
groan
through the valley, and all the fates would
loom
around the wheel deciding how to wind
my fate, a dream would linger in my mind, the
kind
that innocence unravels when it thinks it’s
sinned,
but you also know is empty, like the rind
around a rotten orange shrunk in itself,
and I would sit there feeling sorry, writing
verse
about unspoken words and hope an elf
would suddenly spring up: If you immerse
yourself
in idle fancies, you are lost,
and I would answer, Someday, with fingers crossed.
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