[to William Shakespeare in the 400th anniversary year of his death]
closing the books on those who insult the golden,
I wept into an unseen rain, the fall of dew
on abandoned plains
the brief opening of the night flowers.
how have they stoned the bright remains
of those who went before
and slept a just sleep? rising to
their elaborate, modern morning coffees.
who will deliver us my soul from
the ever encroaching tribe of scoffers
tearing the gilded page in half,
making us beg for crumbs.
somewhere the knights shine on
their valor kept by a discerning God
whose hand could sweep the Board
at any instant
mary angela douglas 1 january 2016
closing the books on those who insult the golden,
I wept into an unseen rain, the fall of dew
on abandoned plains
the brief opening of the night flowers.
how have they stoned the bright remains
of those who went before
and slept a just sleep? rising to
their elaborate, modern morning coffees.
who will deliver us my soul from
the ever encroaching tribe of scoffers
tearing the gilded page in half,
making us beg for crumbs.
somewhere the knights shine on
their valor kept by a discerning God
whose hand could sweep the Board
at any instant
mary angela douglas 1 january 2016
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