Put In Practice Poem by Christian Muller

This thought was good when it appeared
Within my youthful head. But now it seems
That all is feast for flies, as I had feared.
These pale words mock the colours of my dreams.
If I could capture half the swirling fish,
That play within my shallow pond. And cast
Them in the sprawling sea of ink. My wish
Of pastures far beyond my reach, at last
Shall grant my sodden feet a place to stand.
The muses of the world were not to bless
The heads of men. But rather well command
The ebb and flow of ink to great success.
May I be granted some Danaan that will.
Bless well my page, my ink, my hand, my quill.