A Meeting Of Poets

[poliphilo]

 I dreamed we were meeting up with the family of a high-flying lawyer. He was completely bald with freckles and when my mother approached him he acted like he didn't know her. I was about 20 so I was hanging out with his kids.  The daughter was called Rosamund and she wrote poems. She read me one about 911. I wasn't impressed but pretended I was because she was very beautiful. "Ah, Rosamund" I thought, "Rosa Mundi, Rose of the world, the most beautiful name in existence," but didn't say it because her younger brother had already told me "Our Rosamund doesn't flirt." She was a very serious young lady. We were walking down a muddy lane and came to a wall we had to climb. "I write poems too" I said. "I'm not a poetical person," she replied, "The poems just come." "I write poems because I'm a poet," I said, as I hauled myself up to the top of the wall....

Comments

[cmcmck]

'The poems just come' sums it up pretty well.

[poliphilo]

It does.

T.S. Eliot said there was no such thing as "a poet", just people who happened to write poetry.