If You Follow My Poem's Flight

If you follow my poem's flight, Pray, hold it under no search light, Worse, under prying microscope, Nor keen discreet ears, I do hope. Let not your mind's curious mouse Set loose, probing thru all its house, Nor walk into its private rooms Nor dig out my fragile hope's tombs, Nor look for undue nuances On words used between its two lines— Poems mature slow like good wines, Else, its delicate heart may cease. And O look not for a secret switch To illumine its dark precincts, If need be, curb all your instincts, No light, the switch shows up false itch. Nor too much dig into the line, Nor find fault with given design, Search not so hard, what's left unsaid More crucial is than what is said; Nor, dear reader, try to hammer It down, nor humiliate my piece— A mother loves her child as is, A privilege is it of her! Pray, tie it not down, nor torture, Nor analyse it part by part, Not of statistical nature, It's a piece of personal art— Product of heart more than of head, A bird free to sing her fond song That can be right, nor ever wrong, Nor yet, I plead, give it a grade. Be wary then whenso you read, It helps these dos and don'ts to heed, When you choose my poem to read— Poem to me, to you a weed! So pray, spare your critical dart, It has a delicate li'le heart. _____________________________________________ Musings | 06.07.11 |