The trouble with our modern poets is
They use too many words, and far too long.
Since words are all I have to make my song,
I use them sparingly and choose the best,
Taking care of rhyme and cadence, too.
Though all art means to me is winning you,
For you only perfection’s good enough.
Hold me and self-discipline will fail –
No measured work of art springs from wild bliss –
But till I drink to frenzy of your kiss,
My poetry is passion in control.