A Poet's Dream, My Obra Maestra (1992)
From the tip of my pen I can't tap, The new idea from a troubled mind, Just a single seed to grasp, That put my queries behind. A dream for an obra maestra, Yet difficult to sense and mould, A poet's hunt is another failure, My hope slides, faith unhold. Willingness wanted to expire, My restless soul started to mourn, The pace of wondering is dull, My heart groan and groan. Sitting uneasy my fate grimaced, But a little hope may entice idea, Even a senseless quest of a fool poet, Could make a poem -- be my obra maestra.