Three Bards

A great bard arose in the far end of time.
Moses was his name; he sang of God
and the works of God: of Earth-making
and life-giving, of good Creator
and good creation, froward creation
and patient God.

A great bard arose in the midway of time.
Shakespeare his name; he sang of humanity,
good and evil: of noble deeds
and basest treason, joyous fortune
and grievous fate, the rising and falling
of human life.

A great bard arose in the near end of time.
Whitman was his name; whatever he sang
and whenever he wrote, all his song was of
himself.

The Reluctant Poet

And yet, try as you might,
you cannot escape the fact
that words must be used--

ideas expressed,
beauties acknowledged,
praises sung.

And no matter how much, Moses,
you plead weakness with words,
still, someone must sing,

and even in the face of
years of wadded paper
the question remains

why not you?