"Who is this claimant? What? A newspaperman?
Then whence his boast to be considered poet,
A craft most noble; his, far, far below it?
What of his diction? Do his verses scan?"
The rustic Shakespeare, actor, business man,
Also wrote verse. To what genes did he owe it?
Or do the gods who grant the gift bestow it
Here, there, high, low, by no apparent plan?
Long though one live, long try, long fail, long yearn,
None should write down but what he thinks he knows;
Or, poet, sing it true, sing fair, sing well.
Wherever I go, I look, reflect and learn,
Till, mastered by the urge, I crave to tell.
Yes, I report, no less in verse than prose.
From The Island Ireland, © Paul Scott Mowrer, 1966