…for that’s the way that poetry goes… br and goes…mere pose, tapped out as prose… br br Yes, most of us, these days, undisciplined, br approach the temple of pure poetry, br when some thought stirs in deepest heart and mind, , br with all the earthy tread of careful prose… br br yet with a certain hope, a faith, a love, br a purity of heart – that if we tread - br unmetered and unrhymed petitioners - br as pilgrims, sackclothed, ashen from the urn br of some poetic crematorium; br br that, as we stumble on the heart’s true path, br the Muse, with long and patient, weary sigh, br - the music of the ages in her ears - br will catch up with our steps along the road br and guide us to that sacred, lovely place br where, with a gasp – our verses dropt from hand – br we’ll be where goodness, truth and beauty dance br and sing and laugh and love – now three; now one.