Oh, Julietta

Julietta of the dawn, the un-
synchronized watches of the night,
the winter of our miscues,

he sighed and the night sighed, too
and the tomb like a spent rose blenched
above Julietta of the dawn

and the unauthorized murmurings of
the crowds, of the cowed and envious
watchers of the scene as it unrolls,

unstoppable in its throes
and is the same, age after age, God knows
untold any better than when

our Shakespeare
broke his heart upon his pen
and willed it all to us, to them,

and willed it so
oh, Julietta.

mary angela douglas 1 june 2016