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!