Tag Archives: William Wordsworth


There are so many minutes in a day
that it may not seem much to waste a few;
yet these small fragments, worthless as they may
seem, once they are exhausted, life is through.

They pass without much notice, or remark,
absorbed in larger, more important things;
but when you spend them, sleepless, in the dark,
you hear the quiet song that each one sings.

Seize hold this song, and learn each phrase by heart;
for this tune is the soundtrack to the script
that you write with each breath and every move.

Like letters forming words, so small they start —
before you notice, paragraphs have slipped
across the page, and once writ, don’t improve.

30 AUG 2003

inspired by reading William Wordsworth

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A Few Lines Composed Nowhere Near an Abbey

There is a Mary every few doors down
the block; in a small creche under the trees
or tight up against the house, overgrown
with wire grass or chicory to her knees
of cheap cast plaster, whiter than bleached bone.

Each looks so forlorn and abandoned there,
with great sorrow on her beseeching face,
watching the seasons pass under her stare
and silently yearning to leave her place,
to speak out, to travel again, somewhere.

20 FEB 2003

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