If words were birds, I often dream,
I'd build an aviary
Where I would train them, then discard
My dog-eared dictionary.

I'd teach them how to soar and glide,
To fly in flock and hover,
To sweetly warble at my bid
And alien airs discover.

Then most would trill, the smallest hum
And others caw or twitter
In multithroated harmony
Beguilingly aglitter.

With such an aerial array
Of arrows in my quiver
I then could write an "Iliad,"
"Inferno" or "Spoon River."

But words AREN'T birds, of course, instead
They're creatures quite contrary;
That's why my verses all turn out
So very ordinary.

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