Birth of a Poem

This humble serf

Of little worth

And of sparse girth

Wanders the earth,

Amid much mirth

Far from “the Firth”

On foreign turf

Duly gives birth:

To something new

That with pain grew

With words so few

That a mind threw;

All right on cue

And in full view

Meanings ensue

Like morning dew.

PAGE 31