To Shakespeare
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come...
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
W. Shakespeare
You’re right, my lord,
the whole world agrees
With you and your
immortal poetries:
May colour never drain
from rosy lips,
While we shall ever —
tirelessly — keep
Blessing the gift of love
in our rhymes!
And we have no doubts
that betimes
The lodestar would show
from the mist
To guide the weary seamen home
with ease
In the vast stormy
ocean of life…
… And I’d be ready,
through a haze of light,
To feel my true-love’s
heartbeat
on my chest!
And — once again —
to put my art
to test:
To poetize the days
of stolen love,
The happiness —
a gift
sent from above,
When veins are throbbing,
hearts are filled with gloom…
Love bears it out
to the edge of doom!