What is it that a poet needs:
On what subjects does he feed?
For what type causes does he bleed;
And pickings are easy 'twixt flowers and weeds?

Is there a spirit inspiring him;
A nagging ambition retiring him;
A task too arduous, perspiring him?
Or maybe the need is re-wiring him!?

On what shelves does he glean
For new ideas to fill his bean?
Which are the oldies that he must wean
Let them die; or let them be seen?

Up and down in frowns and glances;
Words thet wear in passing fancies
Of thoughts that spin like dervish dances
And pepped-up cowboys on far away ranches?

Why, Oh why? Did I give a dang
To be a poet they'd rather not hang?