Lines Composed in Spanish Class

I started by writing my name on the page
And followed to wonder why;
So often I find my verse trapped in a cage
And I can do naught but sigh.
In compn’y of birds and of pine scented hills
My soul feels as one with all
The open blue skies and the silence that kills
Remind me that I am small.
A pencil in pocket and thoughts in my head
Beseech me to give them life
But my wooden pencil weighs much more than lead
And my soul feels naught but strife.
So, I flee to the mountain and on it I sit
For there is no need for my name to be writ.