Do Not Despise the Day of Small Beginnings

Do Not Despise the Day of Small Beginnings
Or why I am not writing a novel

I am not ready
(and may never be)
to run a farm or tend a garden plot.
But I can plant marigolds in coffee cups
and beans in paper towels
And watch six blades of grass sprout joyously from an eggshell head.
It will not stop a famine
Or put dinner on the table
But it may make the children smile--
I'll write as I am able.

A Poem about Writing Poems

Poems

Let me take the heaps of straw
That sometimes are my thoughts
And spin them into threads of gold
To gleam within the tapestry
Of someone else's life.

Let me take the wordless spark
That's hidden in my heart
And fling it in a ball of words
To light a mighty fire
In someone else's life.

Let me tend silk-worms of hope
That crawl about my mind
'Till they spin word-webs round themselves
And ripen into butterflies
In someone else's life

And poems being what they are
I'll keep what I have given.
There shall be butterflies, and flame,
And shining gold within the halls
Of my own heart and life.