Another Poem -- a real one, I think

Fourty-two of the 69 arguably poetically-turned contributions to my first book of poems and essays were written for practiced, consistently rendered musical accompaniment, and of those 37 were written to be sung with practiced, consistently rendered melodies. So even if you count only the latter category, a Boston stranger might reasonably deduce I am a songwriter who wears the coat, the cloak, of a poet. I chafe at this. I'd rather die a failed poet than a successful songwriter; it just seems a more noble way to fail.
. . . . . Here is a poem I wrote. The periods are inserted because this internet format will not permit spaces.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . When Someone Inspires
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . by Job Conger

. . . I will build for her enchanting form and mind
. . . . . . . . . . . . . castles of hopes and dreams
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .contructed with pen and heart,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . lines of inspired imagery
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and lilting, lusting, lyricism.

. . . Giving melody to desire
. . . . . . for times in which I want to capture her
. . . . . . . . . . . . and rush to hot times at the Hyatt Regency,
. . . . . . predicting ecstasy,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . surrendering hearts,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and good times coming our way,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I will flower the path to love
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . with roses of words,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and as I do,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .I will write
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the end
. . before the beginning!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

. . . . . I wrote this poem February 16, 1971 as I sat in the student lounge at MacMurray College.
. . . . I don't even remember the name of the girl I wrote it about (we remained just friends; not a big deal) , but I remember the name of the girl she and I had talked about a few days earlier. She knew the girl I had taken to the Senior Prom at Springfield High three years previously. Her name was Joyce Mitchell. To this day, I can't drive by a certain house on way-south Second Street without wanting to pull into the driveway and asking her fine parents if she's ready to go.
. . . . Some memories are too powerful for poetry and rhyme, and even song. Some memories named Joyce Elaine Mitchell are destined to live forever only in time.