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Thursday, March 12, 2020

In Praise of my hero, Shakespeare (simple elogy) (whilst enthroned) ...a poem by Dawn M. Nevills

When, in times of sad restraint, my Quill does rise and shake
itself upon yon waiting page (that now is NOT so quiet and dour),
My mind - - (awake amidst the sleeping crowd) --
Does stir, and then -- oh then! --my eyes, (quite misted) do
Sweet words, that flow like lines of laughing gold
Upon the waiting page.
What? Two pages? One is merry, one is wary
(Lest the steady flow, in its restraint, become too Merry)
As the words, in their great comfort, succor, (in their way),
A mind alight with words of Play.
As fingers fly, the winged travails of (reminders of the tests
Of greater things than simple womens' tasks, which do beset
Those same with consternation) this respite of the league,
Betimes, does prove that cleanly rhymes are more to
Our like. And what of it? Who is wont to say, in such a day,
that, though to read be such a boon, such simple hands
Do shame the best!
And why (amidst such wondrous egos, the likes of which do
Strut and, cock-like, exhude with remonstrance, the lofty praise
Of those, and these, and mine, and we's) write?
Still, sprightly, washing, (freely scoffing), gently doffing
Feathered plumes, which tremble with
Guided wind, and
Dryly (just), blinking under a warm and chuckling sun,
Do float, (nymph-like) and wave, moretime, like
Heavenly robed;
All the more at ease, (replete, betide) with mirth of hard, wood
Com Fort.

...published in "Rock Woman at Rest" by Dawn M. Nevills - copyright 2005 iuniverse