when i consider myself
in talents ever swaying eye
i take books from the shelf
and read Keats' poetic cries.

i look on in awe
in wonder of what's been said
for my talent is so raw
i know nothing of what i've read

like a fresh boy
with no impression
no intellectual joy
with misunderstanding comes depression.

oh how i long to learn
for understanding is what i yearn

01/01/1991

Posted on 12/18/2002
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