The Poet’s Task

If only all the poems in men’s hearts

Were written; that each one had a pen

And tongue to write, and time,

That each could interpret silence into words–

If only all the beauty of each day 

From every humble corner of the earth

Recorded, would spring from the mind 

To dance in every kind of air, in mirth–

What we would gain, were every man a poet! 

But since they spend their days in other chases

We who write poetry must gather up the corners

Where unmade poems hide, and make them!