Plea of the Singer

I do not ask for wealth or fame,

     Nor honored place amongst the wise;

I do not ask to have my name

     Cut into stone for staring eyes.

I do not care old worlds to view

     Nor go where go the merry throngs;

I’d like to sit sweetheart with you,

     And listen while you sing my songs.

I do not seek to stir the hearts

     Of multitudes as men are want;

I do not wish to ply my arts

     Or put up any showy front.

All I would ask is some remote,

     Sequestered nook beyond the throngs

Where I into your face could look

     The while you sang my humble songs.

Oct. 29, ‘09

Sunday

          Oct. 31, ‘09