I would that I were poet, 
I would that I were sage,
I would that each and every word were gold upon the page. 

I would that matchless wisdom, 
I would that endless sky, 
did grace my words, like little birds, 
that kiss the clouds with fly. 

I know not where this hunger,
I know not where this rage, 
to take the real, 
     as with a seal, 
          and stamp it on a page. 

I would that all the fancies, 
     that race inside my mind, 
          could let me rest, 
     till I am blessed,
a home for them to find.

And I complain and mumble, 
     but don't be fooled by me.
These words and I, 
     live hand in hand, 
        for I would a poet be. 

"I Would That I Were Poet"
The Carnival of the Soul, Jean Llanomirth