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A Roundel

The poet made not born, at any stage
may ripen, burst a shell of competence
and gold dust pour across the barren page,
the poet made.

The poet born with gilded confidence
thinks highly of the praise, is quick to rage
at plodding steps that sow through diligence.

Grow or die, to both! The truest mage
of poesy to art not artful circumstance
must kindly, with humility, engage,
the poet made.


© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image of John Keats (1795-1821)