The first line of a poem is always the hardest to compose,
because it is the train, that pulls your thought along,
It's the accelerator that inflames verse as it goes,
And a voice that gives meter direction, either right or wrong,
Maybe it could be a sonnet; with a love spilled page,
Or a Villlanelle with airy repetitious set theme.
Six stanzas in a sestina, with stressful symbols made,
The first line always leads it writer to things unseen.
The balled marks rhythm to share in dance or song,
Unlike an elegy, who speak of love long after death.
The first line is the elder verse child. She is strong,
And rides the trains of thoughts, until there's none left.
It should be plain for all see,
The first line's grave responsibility.